


Til Your Death Do Us Part

by Pleasant_Boy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anonymous Sex, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Plot(s), Attempted Drugging, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Issues, It's going to take 100 years but there will be Hubert/Byleth/Edelgard... eventually., OT3, Poisoning, Slow Burn, Spy vs Spy but it’s about two sexy goths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleasant_Boy/pseuds/Pleasant_Boy
Summary: Hubert von Vestra has been working covertly against the Church of Seiros' corruption for years, all in service of Emperor Edelgard's grand ambitions. When a scandalous rumor about the pair of them threatens to undermine Edelgard's authority, he seizes the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone - he agrees to marry the Archbishop's daughter, gaining a wifeanda valued hostage.Byleth can't remember how old she was the first time she killed a heretic. The Ashen Demon is the Church's hidden blade, stopping rebellions before they start. But a target like Hubert needs an unconventional approach. It might take months, but she always does what her mother asks.Their marriage is a symbol of peace between the Church of Seiros and the Adrestian Empire, and it's rotten to the core before they even say "I do."[More tags added as they become relevant.]





	1. Chapter 1

The Imperial Place cathedral was silent as the grave as Byleth walked down the aisle. On either side of her, almost indistinguishable from the church’s stained glass windows, were unfamiliar faces, nothing more than shapes and colors. The highest nobility of the Adrestian Empire watched her bridal march with a mixture of open curiosity and barely-concealed pity. The Archbishop’s daughter had never left the monastery before, after all, and nobles couldn’t pass up an opportunity to gawk at a shiny new toy, especially if it was shaped like a woman.

More than that: if their attention was focused on _ her _, they wouldn’t have to look at _ him_.

The streaming midday sun itself seemed reluctant to shine directly onto the altar, where something dark and foreboding stood; tall and angular and harsh, sharp and unyielding.

Her husband.

Hubert von Vestra, Minister of the Imperial Household, was spoken of in tones usually reserved for telling ghost stories. Even in the relative isolation of the monastery, Byleth heard no shortage of dark rumors about the sinister left hand of the Emperor. Threats to the Empire disappearing overnight without a trace. An up-and-coming revolutionary dead in their bed. Magic that could put grown men in so much pain that they’d beg to die, all without actually harming them. These were some of the _ less _alarming things she’d heard about her new husband, although Byleth felt fairly certain the bits about him drinking the blood of newborns were made up.

But now, seeing the man’s ghastly countenance - the way his sickly pale skin clung to his skull, the flinty stare of his narrowed, sunken eyes - she could understand why other people were terrified of him.

Instead of joy or curiosity, the look on Hubert’s face as he viewed his young and beautiful bride for the first time was only a cold, unfeeling assessment. If Byleth were anyone else, she might have shrunk away from his presence; maybe even run screaming at the thought of spending the rest of her life with such a frightening man.

But no terror gripped her as she ascended the stairs to the altar. She didn’t flinch as his bony hands flitted over hers to slip a ring onto her finger. There was no chill as their eyes met - there was no emotion at all.

Hubert von Vestra was simply a man. Living, breathing; with a heart that beat and blood that spilled.

There was nothing Byleth needed to fear.

***

Appearances and tradition demanded an elaborate celebration, even if the groom only returned congratulations with a withering stare. 

Nobody congratulated the bride.

Hubert did his best to look everywhere except the woman at his side. The Imperial Palace’s great hall had been garishly decorated for the reception, red and white intertwined with gold to symbolize the new peace between the Adrestian Empire and the Church of Seiros that this union represented. Bouquets of deep crimson roses and creamy lilies dotted every table in the hall, and golden candelabras illuminated the space as the sun began to set.

It was all so insufferably fake.

There were two things Hubert von Vestra considered weaknesses, and he hated them both for eluding him. One was heights. It was irrational, silly, completely infuriating, but try as he might, he’d never been able to overcome the gut-wrenching terror of looking off high balconies, to say _nothing_ of pegasus flight.

The other was playing nice. Which was exactly what he had to do at a prestigious, politically-motivated ceremony being held in his honor. Absolutely no poisoning, blackmailing, extortion, threats, intimidation, or daggers to the back in a darkened hallway.

It was a nightmare.

Hubert caved and looked at his… wife, who was admittedly easier on the eyes than the over-the-top decorations. Visually, she was his opposite in almost every way. Byleth was short and soft, with a cherubic face and large, bright eyes. Hubert made the palace housekeepers scream when he ran into them at night. She was also proving exceptionally difficult to read, and it annoyed him almost as much as the party itself did.

He didn’t trust her.

And he certainly didn’t trust the mother who was willing to marry her only daughter to the most feared man in the court of her enemy.

“Lord Vestra,” the Archbishop said, as though reading his mind. Hubert’s sunken eyes drifted up to look at the woman he’d been trying to ruin for the past five years. Rhea was, as always, the picture of serenity and grace. Her elaborate gold headpiece caught the light as she smiled down at him, standing before the bride and groom’s table. Byleth had snapped to attention once her mother approached, and she looked back and forth between Rhea and Hubert with the same empty expression she’d worn all day.

“Lady Rhea,” Hubert said. He did not say ‘your radiance’ or ‘Archbishop’, and Rhea noticed every time but had never once said a thing about it.

Rhea smoothed a loose strand of celadon hair out of Byleth’s face, tucking it behind her ear to rest with the lilies on her bridal hairpiece. “Please take care of my precious child,” she said, resting her hand on Byleth’s lacy sleeve before directing her attention back to Hubert. “Should anything happen to her…” 

Rhea had a knack for the theatrical, which Hubert begrudgingly respected as he waited for her perfectly-timed pause to end. “Suffice to say, I find the mere thought too unpleasant to consider.”

A sloppy threat. Unusually sloppy, for her. “Do you not trust me, my lady?” Hubert asked, letting sardonic mock-offense seep into his voice.

Rhea didn’t take the bait. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t worry?” she mused, and squeezed her daughter’s soft hand affectionately.

If Byleth objected to the two of them discussing her like she wasn’t present, she didn’t say anything. In fact, aside from when they exchanged vows, Hubert hadn’t heard her say anything at all, which was beginning to set him a little on-edge. Before he could try to pull her in the conversation with them, Rhea spoke up once more.

“If you’ll permit me,” she said, which was never a good starting point, “I wish to offer you both a blessing from the Goddess, in celebration of your union. I’m aware you choose not to follow our Church’s teachings”—oh, that was masterfully done—”but I hope you can find it in your heart to accept my well-wishes.”

Hubert didn’t have a choice here, which she knew. The smile on her face looked a lot less serene and a lot more smug. Trying to mask his displeasure, Hubert forced… something that might have resembled a smile onto his face. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t need to - Rhea was going to humiliate him exactly as she wanted to either way. Denying the Archbishop an opportunity to bless the marriage of her daughter? No matter how irate it made him, it wasn’t politically sound to say no.

The Archbishop took Byleth and Hubert’s hands in her own, closing her eyes. 

“May the Goddess Sothis bless the union of these two souls. 

May the radiant light of Her love inspire them to grow beyond themselves, to see through their differences, to know one another as they know themselves. 

Help them practice understanding of human weaknesses. Give them the strength to forgive hurts and failures caused by themselves and others.

And may the Goddess enact the full and glorious force of her divine justice against those who would do them harm.”

Hubert did not close his eyes, and as she spoke the final words, neither did Rhea.

***

This was the part Byleth wasn’t sure about.

The walk back to their bedchamber was as silent as her march to the altar had been. She didn’t mind. Making idle conversation had never been one of her strong points. She always preferred listening to speaking. Unfortunately, it seemed Hubert was of the same mind, and now the only thing they had to listen to were the steps of their boots on the palace floors.

So Byleth kept turning the same question over in her head: why had he accepted this proposal?

If he and the Emperor were only hoping to secure her as a hostage… well, that made sense, but it was _ boring _. And with everything she’d heard about the pair of them—the Scarlet Emperor and her most fearsome general—Byleth was certain they weren’t boring. They would know that the moment anything happened to Byleth, they risked incurring the full wrath of the Church of Seiros.

A genuine, sincere desire for peace—perhaps the Emperor had seen this match as a favorable alternative to marrying Byleth herself? Also not likely. Emperor Edelgard didn’t seem like a woman to give up on anything, and especially not in such a toothless manner.

So, then—

“Here we are,” Hubert said, sending her thoughts flying like scattering birds. The tall wooden door creaked forward, revealing…

A perfectly average bedroom.

A four-poster bed, well-made and unadorned furniture, some shelves for books and a chair for reading. The most ominous thing Byleth could say about it was that there were no windows, which was a shame, since she thought the view from this high up must be beautiful. Other than that, it was… it was so _ normal _.

“You look surprised,” Hubert remarked, sliding the lock closed behind them even as he studied her face carefully.

“Do I?” Byleth asked. She hadn’t meant to. 

“That is what I said, yes.” Hubert lit a few more of the oil lamps in the room, causing shadows to pool over his eyes and beneath his chin. “Were you expecting something different?”

Byleth considered this. “It doesn’t look like the bedroom of an Imperial spymaster,” she said after a moment, not breaking eye contact. This light suited him. It probably made him look quite frightening. Perhaps he’d placed the candles and lamps for that very purpose.

“Disappointed by the lack of torture devices?” Hubert smiled, unsettling in the low light with his thin, long mouth, and it didn’t seem friendly. “I can have the servants bring some in, if it will help you adjust.” Byleth’s blood quickened. This was a much more interesting face than the detached, scowling boredom she’d seen all day. It wasn’t a real smile, but this was her first sight of the real Lord Vestra.

It took Byleth four steps to come face-to-face with her husband. What had Rhea said about this? Wasn't she supposed to pretend this didn’t appeal to her? But Byleth had a feeling if she did that—if she laid there, looked away, acted properly—Hubert would go back to that impenetrable wall of stone and disdain, and that would make this a chore.

And when she rested her palms on his shoulders, looked right up at him and refused to flinch, there was an even more interesting look on his face.

For a brief flash—confusion. Maybe embarrassment? That was nice, too. They looked good on him; these emotions he didn’t account for, in the lamplight he’d planned out.

But just as soon as she’d admired it, his expression locked itself down again, back to that perpetually-annoyed scowl. His gloved hands picked hers up, as though holding a kitten by the scruff, and gracelessly dropped them off of his shoulders as he took a step back. “I have absolutely no intention of forcing myself on you,” he said, and moved back toward the door, “and I’d appreciate not being insulted by your sub-par acting.” He gestured toward another door by the bookshelves. “There’s a bath chamber through there. Fetch a servant if you need hot water. Rest well. I’ll send someone with breakfast for you in the morning.” 

Hubert unlocked the door.

“Wait.” Byleth blurted.

His eyes somehow found the space to narrow further. “What.”

This was purely a practical concern. “It’s… my dress,” she admitted, turning around to show him the line of delicate white buttons running down her spine. “I can’t take this off by myself.” She looked over her shoulder.

Hubert stared for a little longer than seemed necessary. His brows were going to get stuck like that if he furrowed them any harder. Then he said, “I’ll ask one of the female servants to come help you,” and began to disappear through the door again.

“Wait!”

Only his head and part of one shoulder peeked back in through the door. “What.”

Byleth was rapidly forming a theory in her head about why he’d agreed to this marriage. “Hubert,” she said, and it felt wrong coming out of her mouth even though he was her husband now, “that’s… going to look strange. For both of us. The servants will talk. You understand?” 

The look of resignation on his face made it clear that, yes, he understood—and more importantly, it made it clear that Byleth was right. 

Hubert needed to be married. The fact that it was to Byleth was probably only a case of blissful timing and a chance to seize what he thought was an advantage. But it was less important that it was her and more important that the marriage existed at all, so he could go through these motions to say he had a wife, to have a piece of proof. 

Hubert closed the door behind him, setting his jaw as he stood behind his much-smaller wife. Byleth took her mother’s lily-and-gold headpiece off her head, gracelessly shaking her weighed-down hair loose. She felt Hubert start with the button at the top of the back of her neck, the soft hair there involuntarily standing on end as he fumbled.

“You’ll probably have to take off your gloves,” she said. “The buttons are difficult.”

She was gifted an irritated huff as he obeyed, shoving the garments in his jacket pocket before continuing. Hubert’s hands were cold, and now that he didn’t have the fabric in the way they moved with a surgeon’s precision, gradually peeling the white lace covering her smooth skin apart. 

Goosebumps erupted over Byleth’s skin, and she felt… ashamed? Embarrassed? But she couldn’t say why. Or if she disliked it.

His fingers continued, displacing the delicate pearl buttons from their loops, exposing her more and more. It was an almost meditative action, soothing, and just as Byleth allowed herself to close her eyes, the last button came undone at the small of her back.

Hubert stepped away like he’d been stung. “There. How elaborately impractical,” he groused, reaching for his gloves. “Now, if there’s nothing else”—he said in a tone that made it clear he really hoped there would be nothing else—"Her Majesty and I still have work to do this evening, so if you'll excuse me..."

_Ah._ There it was.

“Hubert,” Byleth said, a little softer than she had before, “people are going to talk if you spend your wedding night with Emperor Edelgard instead of me.”

He stiffened, his sharp jaw clenching, and after a few tense moments, he locked the door and stepped away, resigned to the horrible fate of sharing a bed with his new wife.

"You don't have to touch me at all. Do you want me to sleep on the floor? Or in the bath? I can—"

Hubert recoiled. “Did you j—no. No, I do not want you to sleep on the _ floor_.” And then added, “Byleth.” Just to try out the feel of it in his mouth. Evidently, it tasted unpleasant.

Byleth ran her fingers through her hair as though she could shake loose her headache, even as her wedding dress was half-falling off her arms. “We can sleep in this bed for tonight and figure out a more comfortable solution for the future,” she said calmly, and then looked down and sighed as she saw her breasts threatening to escape the dress’s already-low neckline. “Could you turn around, please?”

Hubert had already turned around the second her dress started venturing southward. He didn’t move a muscle.

Apparently, servants had already moved Byleth’s things—there weren’t many, only two suitcases of clothing—into the room, and she shed her lacy dress like a snake's skin, the garment pooling unceremoniously onto the floor. Off with the stockings he hadn’t even seen, off with the shoes that made her legs ache, the undergarments that rubbed and chafed in ways she’d never imagined possible.

Her old white sleep shirt was soft and comforting, and she climbed onto the large red bed to sit. “Thank you. You can turn around again.”

Hubert did. And reversed direction immediately. “You’re not decent.”

Byleth blinked slowly, looking down at herself. The shirt stopped a little above her knees. Was that not decent? It covered her genitals, so there shouldn't have been a problem. It was a bit big in the collar, she supposed, hanging down off one shoulder or another, but shoulders were definitely acceptable body parts… right? What a strange thing to say.

“Yes, I am,” she said firmly, too sleepy to argue. “I’m decent and exhausted. Please turn the lights off and sleep.”

As she crawled under the plush blanket, Hubert did as she asked, extinguishing the candles and oil lamps until the room was eclipsed in complete darkness. Byleth could only hear fabric rustling, the sound of buttons being undone and trousers dragging down off skin, and held her breath as she felt the bed shift with the weight of the man beside her.

“I had thought you were going to stay silent the whole time, but you’re quite bossy, aren’t you?” Hubert grumbled.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Byleth said.

The silence grew thick.

“Good night,” Hubert replied, and shifted further away from her.

***

His chest rose and fell too regularly. His breathing was perfectly controlled. He never snored. He only moved occasionally—likely when his limbs fell asleep—and Byleth could feel his body tense up whenever she moved.

By the time the sun rose and Hubert was quickly out the door to face the day, desperate to be free of his wife’s presence, Byleth was certain he hadn’t slept for even a single moment all night. But he’d been trying very hard to fake it for her.

As the door closed behind him, she rubbed her face in her hands, green eyes staring, unseeing, up at the vaulted ceiling.

Killing Hubert von Vestra was going to be her greatest challenge yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth explores the palace and meets the Emperor for the first time. It doesn't go the way she imagined.

“Hubert, you look even more tired than usual. Was your wedding night that exhausting?”

If anyone other than Lady Edelgard had teased him, Hubert would have been inclined to poison their morning tea. But as it was he only scoffed at her, clutching his cup of coffee in his bony hands.

Even first thing in the morning, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg radiated a calm authority. Long white hair flowed down her shoulders over a deep red satin dressing gown, the large sleeves falling down to her elbows whenever she lifted her cup of tea to her lips. Hubert loved every iteration of his Emperor, but this one—where she allowed herself to simply exist, unadorned and unburdened by the shackles of her vision—would have been his favorite, if he could let himself think something so profane. 

The Emperor’s personal garden was her favorite spot to take meals and breaks when she needed privacy. It was a small space, just outside the first floor of her suite. Hubert had objected endlessly to having something so open so close to the place she slept—it was a security nightmare—but Edelgard had insisted. The garden was full of healthy green shrubs and carnations on a spectrum from crimson to white. Three wrought iron chairs circled a small matching table with a glass top. It had become a tradition for her to enjoy breakfast with her two most loyal attendants here every morning, letting her wake up while the trio discussed the day’s upcoming business.

Blissfully, the Prime Minister—that insufferable fop—was absent this morning, having been dispatched on a diplomatic envoy to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus sometime last week. Hubert could barely tolerate Ferdinand von Aegir at the best of times. 

This was not the best of times.

“She didn’t sleep at all,” Hubert said. Edelgard waited for him to continue as she spread outlandishly sweet strawberry jam over her scone. “She was trying to make me think she was asleep, and she was quite good at it.”

“And you know this because…” she replied, one eyebrow raising.

“I was also pretending to sleep, of course.”

Edelgard laughed quietly. “See? There’s potential for this to be a good match, after all,” she said before taking a bite of her pastry.

Hubert frowned. “I see Your Majesty is in high spirits this morning.”

The Emperor sighed and turned her violet stare toward Hubert. He sat up a little straighter in his chair. That look meant there was a reprimand incoming. “I did voice my objections to this, you know,” Edelgard reminded him. “I voiced them _ several times _, as I recall. So you have no room to complain, and I have every right to tease.” With that, she primly sipped her bergamot tea again.

“My lady, you still can’t believe this wasn’t necessary. The things the court has been saying about—”

Edelgard’s teacup made a sharp clink as it hit its saucer, likely far louder than she intended it to.

“And as _ I’ve _ continued to say, let them talk!” she snapped. Sighing, she rubbed her temple with her free hand, fixing Hubert with a plaintive look. “You’re the Minister of the Imperial Household. You’ve guarded me since we were children. All those vultures know how to do is gossip, Hubert. They would have moved on eventually.”

Hubert waited for her to calm down, allowing a few moments of quiet as they kept drinking. A warm spring breeze rustled the garden flowers, and he thought about all the times he had failed to guard her.

Dragging her name through the mud was less overtly lethal than a knife to the back, it was true. But if left unchecked, rumors could spread like a sickness, eating away at the security of her rule, and Edelgard had no idea how deep the roots of this particular piece of gossip stretched.

It was admirable of her to want to believe people wouldn’t be swayed so easily—to be confident that the court would come to accept her based on her own achievements and merit. Hubert sincerely believed the time would come when that would be true. It might not happen for Edelgard, but perhaps for the next Emperor. But he’d seen the ugliness of people too content with the status quo and the lengths they would go to uphold it. 

Sometimes, sickness had to be cut out. Amputated. Cauterized. Hubert wore a surgeon’s gloves, a butcher’s apron, so Edelgard would never have to be stained with blood.

The public could not think he was already staining her.

“We have to agree to disagree on this, Your Majesty,” he said, knowing full well that she would not agree to disagree on this. “My place is in your shadow, not at your side.”

It seemed to hurt her when he spoke like this, but he couldn’t understand why, and even if he did, he couldn’t allow it to change his mind. But it was… difficult, when she looked at him with such an honest sadness. Too many other people in her life had disappointed her, and it was painful to be counted among them, even for a brief and insignificant moment.

“I’m not _ ashamed _ of you, Hubert,” Edelgard replied, frowning at him, and suddenly Hubert felt very, very tired, even after his morning coffee. “I wish you wouldn’t be either.”

He didn't know what to say, or how to feel.

She rested a hand on his, and they finished their breakfast in the silent comfort of each other’s company.

  


***

Her mother was gone, and Byleth was alone.

Rhea and the rest of her family had departed the day after the wedding, and Byleth hadn’t seen Hubert since that night. She busied herself for a couple of days by turning over every corner in her bedroom—of course Hubert wouldn’t let her into his real chambers—but found nothing of interest. All the books were dull histories of the Empire, and they didn’t even have threatening subtext. No hidden knives, trap doors, or skeletons in closets. 

Byleth’s next step was memorizing the layout of the palace, which was no small undertaking given how massive it was. But the prospect of doing so excited her. Exploring new buildings reminded her of childhood anatomy lessons. The palace was a living, breathing giant of wood and stone. There were veins and arteries, choke points and ribs, organs and a pulse. Eventually, she would know them all, as intimately as she knew a human’s.

Garreg Mach Monastery had been full of secret passageways and empty rooms. The Imperial Palace certainly had its own secrets—Byleth could practically feel them thrumming in the walls—but she couldn’t go hunting for them just yet. She needed to stay a curious bride, for now.

At least Hubert’s continued avoidance made this part of her job much easier.

Servants bowed when she passed, and that wasn’t new, but the looks on their faces were. It was the same way everyone looked at her since she had arrived—with a mixture of pity and curiosity. Some even whispered to each other when they thought she was out of earshot.

_ “Poor thing, I can’t imagine being forced to—“ _

_ “Do you think she knows about the Emperor and—“ _

_ “Shame she couldn’t have been matched with the Prime Minister—“ _

It wasn’t a shame, but they didn’t have to know.

*** 

She’d been working her way through the west wing when she found an empty training ground.

It was small but well-maintained, with freshly replaced training dummies and telltale scorch marks of magic on a few sections of stone. The tightly-packed dirt beneath her feet was covered in footprints, telling hundreds of stories of imagined battles. The rack of training weapons on the wall seemed to mostly feature axes and daggers, which seemed to call out to her.

Byleth’s body sang for the blissful ache of her muscles screaming.

She was hardly dressed for it, but... no one was here to watch. There were at least two hours before dinner—if she timed it properly, she could make it back to her chambers looking as filthy as she wanted with no one any the wiser.

An involuntary sigh escaped her as her fingers wrapped around the training dagger’s hilt. She hadn’t brought any weapons with her to the palace—Hubert’s death had to be “accidental”, after all, so a blade to the heart wouldn’t do. But it felt like wandering around naked.

Byleth’s footing was clumsier than she wanted when she started running through her drills. That was alright. It had been a few weeks without practice. Start slow. Remember how the movements feel. It will come back if you let it. 

And it did. Before long, the cheap wooden dagger was an extension of her body. There wasn’t a lot she could do alone, not without Rhea or Seteth to help correct her form, but the physicality of the movements felt so good that it didn’t matter. Each solid impact on the training dummy made her breath leave her lungs in short huffs, and even that felt good, to not have to worry about how she looked or sounded.

“Am I interrupting you?”

The unexpected feminine voice made Byleth whirl around in alarm—how had she not heard them come in?

The hair on her neck rose. She almost didn't recognize her, but Emperor Edelgard stood by the door, eyes fixed on her with an amused expression.

Byleth had seen the Emperor at the wedding, of course, cutting a fearsome figure in her red cape and gown, with her wickedly curved golden horns. It was the first time she’d been in the same room with the person planning on killing her mother. She looked every part the dangerous rebel, beautiful and terrifying, this evil woman who wanted to unmake Byleth’s entire life. 

The woman standing before her had all the regality of the Emperor she’d seen that day, and none of the theatrics. Edelgard had clearly come here to train, dressed in a shockingly simple shirt and breeches, with her white hair pulled back out of her face. 

“N-no,” Byleth replied once she’d caught her breath. “No, you aren’t interrupting me. I just saw this was empty, and—“

“That would probably be,” Edelgard said slowly, “because this is my private training ground.”

Byleth blinked. “Oh.” So that insignia on the door hadn’t just been for decoration after all. “I’ll leave, then.”

“Hold a moment,” Edelgard said, approaching her cautiously, and Byleth could see the curiosity glittering in her eyes. “I wasn’t aware you could fight. Were you trained at the monastery?”

To deny that after what Edelgard had already seen would be foolish. More foolish than letting herself get caught. Byleth nodded. “Yes, since I was young. The Archbishop wanted me to be able to defend myself,” she answered.

“I would say you’re certainly capable of that,” Edelgard said. She touched her lips with one hand as she thought, looking Byleth up and down, and there was an uncomfortable feeling of being peeled open and exposed like an overripe fruit. 

“Byleth,” she said, the name rolling off her tongue as though she’d said it a hundred times before, “would you mind sparring with me? I’m quite curious how our training compares.”

Byleth’s sleepy eyes widened. Was this some sort of trap? Byleth knew at least a dozen ways to kill people with training weapons. If Edelgard’s instructors were any good, she would know just as many.

Evidently her pause lasted a bit too long, because Edelgard continued, “Of course, if you have other engagements, I understand, but...”

But... 

Byleth was curious, too. How did she compare to the Emperor herself? How could she possibly miss the chance to find out?

“I’d be honored,” she said, surprised that she meant it.

“Excellent.” Edelgard strode over to the weapons rack, picking up both training swords in her hands. “We’ll go easy, seeing as neither of us are dressed properly for this. First hit wins, best of three?”

“Alright,” Byleth replied, still slightly unable to process what was happening as she caught the sword Edelgard tossed her. The Emperor was stretching, and Byleth found herself staring without meaning to.

She looked so human. 

Taking a centering breath, Byleth paused to shed the black capelet over her shoulders, letting it carelessly fall to the ground before pulling her messy hair back as best she could. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said, rubbing her already-sore shoulder muscles through her shirt.

And now, for some reason, Edelgard was staring. Byleth followed her gaze and looked down at herself. Was her shirt out of place? Had it torn during practice? It clung to her with sweat, but that was normal for training, so...

Whatever Edelgard had been fixated on, she looked away just as quickly. “W-well! I’m ready. On your mark, Byleth,” she called, hurriedly getting into position and raising her wooden sword.

The first few strikes were easy, the training swords lightly clacking together as the pair of them watched the others’ movements. They circled, getting a feel for what each woman was capable of.

“I noticed you using one of the daggers when I came in,” Edelgard commented, stepping backwards after a failed thrust. “Those are Hubert’s weapon of choice as well.” A scuffle, a feint, and she dipped back again. “When he’s not using magic, of course.”

Byleth huffed as she blocked one of Edelgard’s overhead strikes, the reverberation sending pleasantly painful shocks through her arms. “You’re too used to axes,” she said. “You’re putting too much force into every swing. You’ll get tired quick if you keep that up.”

Edelgard’s smile flashed, and this time it had a same hint of the darkness Byleth had seen in Hubert’s. “It’s bold of you to think you’ll last long enough for me to get tired.”

She swung her sword overhead again, and Byleth moved in closer to punish her for it—putting herself at the perfect range for Edelgard to kick her in the stomach.

Byleth gasped as she fell back onto the dirt, hard, all the wind knocked out of her at once. She scrambled to try to get back to her feet, but it was too late.

Edelgard looked down at her, the mercifully dull point of the training sword pressing gently against Byleth’s throat.

“That was dirty,” Byleth said, blinking slowly as she tried to remember how to breathe. At least she hadn’t gotten kicked in the ribs, and nothing was damaged, but she was going to have a nasty bruise for a week.

“All fighting is dirty,” Edelgard replied simply, offering Byleth a gloved hand.

Byleth took it. Halfway through standing, she used both of their weight to pull Edelgard down, throwing the Emperor onto her back and straddling her waist.

Her sword gently tapped Edelgard’s neck.

Edelgard just... laughed. Like she was genuinely delighted that she’d been beaten in such a graceless way.

“You have an unusual idea of what sparring is,” Byleth said, furrowing her brows.

“It’s training to kill other people.” Sweat rolled down Edelgard’s cheek, dripping onto the dirt beneath her. “It’s not dancing. Although you seemed to have the two mixed up when we first started.”

Byleth’s face flushed. “I thought—“

“You thought I’d fight fair?” Edelgard grinned again, already knowing the answer.

“One more round,” Byleth said, hopping up and walking away to get back into her starting position. It irritated her, having everything she thought about this woman be wrong. Hubert was almost comfortingly transparent in comparison.

An unpredictable opponent was a dangerous one.

Their training swords had only just cracked together when the door swung open, and both women stopped in their tracks as though they were children fighting.

Hubert looked at the pair of them, with plainly visible surprise on his face, and Byleth was inexplicably delighted once more by the sight of it.

“Your Majesty,” he said, smoothing over his face with practiced indifference. “Byleth.” A bad attempt to make her name sound like an afterthought, instead of the first thing he saw when he entered the room.

“Hubert,” Edelgard greeted, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Your wife and I were just enjoying a spontaneous training session.”

“I can see that,” he said icily.

“Perhaps you’d care to join us?” Edelgard asked, resting one hand on her hip. Byleth wasn’t sure why she smirked as she asked that, but she couldn’t help looking at Hubert with hope in her chest. To see them both fighting at once would be—

But Hubert only scowled. “It’s getting a bit late, Your Majesty. I only came to remind you that we still need to discuss preparations for your meeting with the head of House Varley tomorrow evening.”

Edelgard turned to Byleth with an apologetic, gentle smile on her face. “It appears we’ll have to settle our score later. I look forward to sparring with you again, Byleth.”

The look on Hubert’s face made it clear he did not like the idea of this, and so Byleth gave the Emperor an emphatic, firm nod. “I do too, Edelgard.”

  


***

“I like her,” Edelgard declared.

She had waited to do so until Hubert was in the middle of a sip of his coffee, entirely on purpose. Trying to pass off his pause as the heat burning his mouth, he swallowed thickly before fixing Edelgard with a glare, which had never worked before and was certainly not going to work now.

She lifted her teacup to her lips.

“You... ‘like’ the woman who was probably sent here to assassinate me,” Hubert repeated.

“She’s definitely an assassin,” Edelgard agreed. Today’s breakfast was more sweet pastries—flaky sugared dough full of blackberry jam. Hubert would eat later. “But I like her. She’s quite interesting, Hubert. You should try to get to know her.”

Hubert leaned his head onto one palm, digging his fingertips into his raven hair. “To what end, my lady?” He asked, his tone a little shorter than he intended. It was enough work keeping Edelgard safe _ without _ her trying to befriend an assassin of the Church.

Edelgard leaned back in her chair, looking at the carnations in the garden. A long moment passed before she spoke again. “I think she could be persuaded to help us.”

It made the hair on his neck stand up. There were so many ways getting close to someone could go wrong, even when they weren’t planning your murder. It was too risky—they knew nothing about her, and that meant they couldn’t effectively manipulate her.

But Edelgard was giving him a look that made her confidence clear. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, for reasons he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“I have to insist that this is not one of your better ideas,” Hubert said.

“You’re not thinking about the bigger picture. If we can get her on our side, we’ll have a direct connection to Rhea. Someone who knows all the Church’s inner workings,” Edelgard shot back, and that was a hard point for Hubert to argue against. “Think of all the information we could gain! I refuse to let this potential pass us by.”

Hubert looked down into his coffee, overwhelmingly thankful that the Prime Minister wasn’t here for this discussion. He could almost hear Ferdinand’s_ “I agree with Edelgard!” _ in his head, and when the two of them were united on something against him, it was truly easier to move mountains than to make any progress in debates.

He was already making backup plans in his head, all of which ended with Byleth in a cell or a coffin.

“How do you suggest we—” Hubert tried not to grimace. He really did. “—get to know her?”

Edelgard stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Hubert, you’re _ married _ to her.”

He didn’t know what being married to someone meant. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his parents speak to each other. There were noble couples in the court, of course, but most of them either hated each other or... or, well, Hubert had used their relationship as perfect fuel for blackmail.

Edelgard lapsed into silence alongside him as they thought about this together—the less said about her own parents, the better. The mere thought of them had his fingers clench around the handle of his cup too hard.

But suddenly, Edelgard sat upright in her chair.

He had a bad feeling about this.

“Hubert. You are to spend all of the next day with her.”

“Your Majesty, there’s simply too much work to be done—“

“Hubert von Vestra,” Edelgard said, and Hubert’s heart dropped into his stomach, “this is a direct command from your Emperor. I will see you in Byleth’s presence, or I will not see you at all, until sundown tomorrow. Will you obey your orders?”

Hubert closed his eyes and allowed himself one long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Your Majesty. As you command.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I actually had to tone the sparring scene down because it was _too_ sexually charged... there's going to be eventual Hubert/Byleth/Edelgard but I wanted it to be a slower burn, focusing on Hubert and Byleth's relationship first before Edelgard is added to the mix. Thank you for reading! See you next time! o/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the order of the Emperor, Hubert goes on a date with his wife—but not in the way she hoped he would. An unexpected guest ruins his carefully-laid plans.

When Hubert was on a direct mission from Emperor Edelgard, people in the palace knew. His confident stride and the look of intense determination on his face projected an aura so strong he may as well have been screaming it: _get out of my way_. 

Workers and nobles alike skittered aside as he stalked through the halls, his black-and-red cape flowing behind. His scowl deepened with every step that brought him closer to his destination.

By the order of the Emperor, he was going to ask his wife to lunch.

“If I was your wife—” Edelgard had said, and Hubert crushed the feelings that sentence had shaken loose beneath his heel like rotten apples, “—the activity we do would be less important to me than your company. Why not take some time to prepare yourself and then invite her to share a meal with you?”

Before shooing him out of the garden that morning, Edelgard left him with one last piece of advice: “Think of this as a valuable opportunity to learn more about her.”

Hubert had prepared.

There was no such thing as a truth serum. As convenient as it would have made his job, he had yet to find or create a magical brew that would make someone spew their deepest, darkest secrets. What did exist, however, was an unassuming herb Hubert carefully cultivated in his workshop.

Merchant’s tongue, when dried and treated, could be mixed into other tea leaves with little to no impact on the color or flavor. Beloved by both scoundrels and people with debilitating anxiety, it wouldn’t get a trained assassin to start discussing her plans. But it did make people... looser. More talkative.

Suggestible.

And he’d been building up a tolerance for years.

He was fairly certain this wasn’t what Edelgard had in mind when she suggested he get to know Byleth, but what she didn’t know had never hurt her.

The wooden door of Byleth’s room stood before him, and her on the other side. Hubert raised his gloved knuckles, exhaling deeply before firmly rapping on the door. He heard shuffling, and the lock opening, and then there stood his pint-sized would-be murderer. 

Byleth blinked up at him, a miniscule little widening of her eyes the only indication she was surprised, before opening the door fully. She was wearing the same infuriating sleep shirt she had been on their wedding night, now tucked halfway into a pair of trousers—with the loose neckline falling off one shoulder, she looked like some beautiful, arrogant young noble lord and it was so much worse than it had been that night.

Hubert’s jaw clenched. She was crafty, and he had to respect her for making use of all weapons available to her, but it was going to take more than a show of her (soft, pristine, _ chewable_) collarbone to make him drop his guard. 

The knife in his thigh holster was a comforting weight against his leg.

“Hubert,” Byleth greeted, and he hated the way her eyes always bore into his, even when they still looked tired, “what are you doing here? Do you need something?”

Hubert forced a smile. “I wondered if you would mind joining me for a meal together, Byleth.”

All traces of sleepiness vanished from Byleth’s face. “I—are you feeling well?” She asked, and Hubert’s fake grin dropped like a bag of rocks.

“I simply thought we should spend some time getting to know one another,” he said, “seeing as we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together.” His smile returned as he rested a hand above her on the doorway. “Which I _ sincerely _ hope is a very long time, don’t you?”

***

It was a short and silent walk to the private dining chambers that Edelgard’s inner circle used. Being a little further away from the kitchens was a small price to pay for enjoying a meal in peace. The relatively modest room had a much warmer, more intimate feeling than the grand dining hall the rest of the palace frequented. Large windows let in sunshine and allowed for views of the grounds, and at the moment a pleasant breeze rustled the red and gold curtains.

There was also the added convenience of a smaller pantry, so that Hubert could, for example, be certain a specific box of tea leaves would be brought to him in a way that would erase all suspicion of tampering.

Mostly out of reflex, Hubert pulled Byleth’s chair out for her, allowing her to sit first before taking his own place, hanging his cape on the back of his chair. She drew her jacket snugly around her, regarding the dining room with that same blank stare as always.

“Do you drink tea?” Hubert asked, and her attention returned to him once more.

“Yes,” she said plainly, and Hubert gestured for one of the servants to attend to them, quietly asking for a pot of the Hresvelg blend to be brought over.

Moments passed in absolutely unbearable silence.

“Tell me, Byleth, do they give everyone at Garreg Mach such extensive combat training?” He finally asked, unable to stand the sound of their breathing and the room’s clock ticking anymore. 

“Edelgard asked me the same thing,” Byleth responded, and Hubert’s entire body bristled at the unearned intimacy the lack of title implied. “My mother has always been very protective of me. She and my uncle wanted me to be able to protect myself if I had to.” Her bright eyes fixed onto his, her silent implication clear as day.

Hubert leaned back in his seat as their tea was brought out, steeping in a big pot at the center of the table. Perfect—the servant had also brought over cups. Poisoning one person’s drink was amateurish. If Byleth was half as good as he thought, she’d be on alert for him to have rubbed the inside of her cup with poison in advance.

So it came as no surprise when she “accidentally” dropped her teacup as she picked it up off the tray. The grin on Hubert’s face as she apologized profusely to the server was one of genuine appreciation for a fellow professional. 

“Are you feeling alright?” He couldn’t help asking, aware of how it must have looked to be smiling as he asked such a thing.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry,” Byleth said, gently putting her new cup down on its saucer. “I guess my hands are still shaky from sparring with Edelgard last night.”

Hubert frowned at the memory. He hadn’t liked the look in Byleth’s eyes when he walked in on them. Frankly, he hadn’t liked the look in Edelgard’s, either. “Right.”

“Do you train together often?” She asked, resting her soft chin in her hands. Her deceptively gentle eyes regarded him curiously. “I have trouble picturing you in hand-to-hand combat.”

She was trying to rile him up, and he wasn’t going to rise to it. “Anything to ensure Lady Edelgard’s protection,” he said smoothly. “I’d be a poor excuse for a bodyguard if I couldn’t defend her under any circumstances.”

“I only wondered if your knifeplay was as good as your magic.”

“Would you like me to arrange a demonstration?”

Instead of answering, Byleth’s gaze flickered to the teapot and then back to Hubert, and he poured them both cups. 

He hated tea. No matter how strongly it was brewed, it always tasted weak and floral, or worse, like grass. But she’d never try it if she didn’t see him drink as well, and so he forced himself to swallow, withholding a grimace as he did so.

Just as Byleth lifted the cup in her hands, the door swung open.

“Ah, Hubert! You scoundrel, I was looking for you!”

_ Oh no. _

_ Oh _ ** _no_**_. _

Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir strolled into the dining room, flashing a dimpled smile and an overly-familiar wave. His long, fiery hair somehow didn’t have a single strand out of place, even though he’d clearly just returned from riding home, judging by his flushed cheeks and traveling clothes. Ferdinand was insufferably cheerful, wretchedly charismatic, and the exact last person Hubert needed to see right now.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned to find out you had been _ married _ while I was away!” Ferdinand laughed, clapping Hubert on the shoulder so hard his chair rattled, before turning to Byleth with a look of delighted surprise. “And to someone so beautiful, no less! My lady, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!”

Byleth tentatively placed her hand into Ferdinand’s outstretched one, and he gave her a chaste kiss on the back of it as he bowed. She looked at him with her big, glass doll eyes, and asked simply, “Who are you?”

Hubert had never seen someone take the wind out of Ferdinand’s sails so suddenly, and he stifled a grin. But just as quickly, Ferdinand bounced back—it was one of his few redeeming qualities.

“Of course, how rude of me not to introduce myself! I am Ferdinand von Aegir, Prime Minister of the Empire,” he said, his smile returning.

“Byleth... von Vestra,” she replied, and Hubert wondered if he was just imagining the sadness in her voice as she said it.

“We don’t want to keep you,” Hubert said, a barely veiled _ ‘please leave’_. “You must be eager to get some rest after such a long journey home.”

Ferdinand seemed about to say something else, and then his gaze fell to the teapot between them, and to the cup in Hubert’s hand, and Hubert watched his plans fall apart in slow motion all because of this obscenely friendly puppy of a man.

“Wait—you have _ Hubert _ drinking _ tea_?” Ferdinand asked with wide eyes, punctuated by a disbelieving laugh. “Marriage has already changed you, I see!”

Byleth leaned forward a little in her chair. “Is that unusual for him?” She asked, looking back and forth between the two men.

“Oh, he loathes it. I have never seen him drink anything but coffee. He refuses to even try the blends I import from overseas,” Ferdinand continued, ruining everything with great cheer and enthusiasm. Hubert closed his eyes.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

“It must be something about this blend, then,” Byleth said, and Hubert’s stomach twisted into a knot of dread. “It has a very unique, bitter flavor. Do you want to try some, Ferdinand?”

She held her full cup out to the Prime Minister.

Time stopped.

Hubert could tell Ferdinand not to drink it, or forcibly take the cup, revealing to both Byleth and Ferdinand that he had attempted to drug her.

Or Hubert could let the naturally talkative Prime Minister, who had just moments ago returned from a sensitive diplomatic mission, drink tea laced with something that would make him inclined to talk _ even more_.

As Ferdinand gratefully lifted the cup to his lips and drank, Hubert looked across the table at Byleth.

For the first time since they’d met, she was smiling—really smiling—at him.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” She asked, and Hubert felt the blood drain from his face as she reveled in her victory.

No, no, she hadn’t won _ yet_. She didn’t know what kind of drug it was. She wouldn’t know how to make use of it. If he could take advantage of Ferdinand’s suggestibility, he could prevent this from getting worse.

“As I was saying,” Hubert said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt, “I’m certain you must be _ very tired_. You should go get your rest, and—“

“Actually, Ferdinand, I’d love if you could join us for a bit,” Byleth interrupted, and Hubert wanted to scream. “Take a seat if you’d like. Where are you returning from?”

Ferdinand’s grin had shifted almost imperceptibly to something a little more dreamlike. He didn’t even give Byleth her cup back as he happily obliged her request, taking the empty seat between the pair of them—not noticing the couple glaring daggers across the table.

“Of course, of course! I was spending some time in Faerghus. Given our history, it is most important to keep their relationship with the Empire strong and amicable,” he happily chatted, and Hubert touched the knife on his thigh under the table as his mind raced. 

Would a shove out the window kill her from this height? Assuming Byleth had been keeping regular correspondence with Rhea, they would have a month at most before she became suspicious, which wasn’t enough time to—

Byleth was speaking again. “It seems like a bad time of year to travel to Faerghus, given the cold,” she mused, before adding, “Couldn’t you have waited for the weather to get nicer?”

Ferdinand shook his head. “Unfortunately not. Edelgard was insistent that this be—“

“_Ferdinand_,” Hubert hissed, and Ferdinand’s mouth snapped shut as Byleth watched with a little sparkle in her eye. “Your orders were to report the details of your visit to Her Majesty first.”

Ferdinand looked offended on Byleth’s behalf. “Hubert, this is your _ wife—“_

“No, it’s alright,” Byleth said with a shake of her head. “It’s not my place to pry into official business. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

At that moment, a pair of servants arrived, setting down plates in front of Hubert and Byleth. Tender strips of white fish had been sauteed in a sauce of butter and garlic, mixed with fresh herbs from the palace gardens and topped with a drizzle of lemon.

Hubert hoped she choked on it.

“Can we talk more later, Ferdinand?” Byleth asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was hoping to spend some time alone with my husband.” Echoing Hubert’s own words, she repeated, “And you must be so tired...”

The nerve of her. The absolute gall. 

Ferdinand yawned, daintily covering his mouth as he did so. “It was quite an exhausting journey,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly as he stood up. “Well, I hope you two lovebirds have a wonderful lunch!”

“We will,” Byleth replied, returning the grin.

With a parting bow, Ferdinand left the dining room, with absolutely no knowledge of the havoc he had just wrought.

A few moments passed in silence so thick Hubert could hear his own blood rushing in his ears. He gripped his silverware so hard his knuckles were white beneath his gloves, and he fantasized about making her bleed on the tablecloth.

“How’s your tea?” Byleth asked, picking up her half-drunk cup once more and peering into it.

“I’m not thirsty,” Hubert practically growled.

“That’s strange,” she said with a shrug, and downed hers in one go. “Suddenly, I’m just _ parched_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been SO EAGERLY waiting to introduce Ferdinand. I had a blast writing this chapter, and I hope it was fun to read. Thank you for bearing with me as I get into the groove of writing these characters! 
> 
> (Also, I think I might have to write the extremely OOC alternate version of this chapter where they both just tag-team Ferdinand because it’s all I can think about now lmao)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Hubert go for a ride, and Hubert finds a new weapon.

The humiliation Hubert had endured at lunchtime was fading; from white-hot rage in his gut to the throbbing sting of a slap on the face. Something still lingered, a feeling he couldn’t name, but he was sure it would fade too. He’d shown Byleth to the palace library and the two spent time browsing the shelves separately, giving his thoughts time to still and sharpen. 

He couldn’t kill her yet. It had been foolish to even briefly entertain the idea. Hostages were no use dead, after all.

The Emperor’s plan was entering its final phase, but it would still take months—possibly even another year—for them to be secure enough to play their hand against the Church. It would have been a different situation if Byleth slipped up badly enough to give Hubert irrefutable evidence of her assassination plans, giving him enough just cause to punish her in the eyes of the public... not to mention how damaging that would be to the Church’s already-fragile status in the Empire. But as it stood currently, the only thing Byleth was guilty of was being infuriating.

He had to keep her under control until Edelgard made her move against the Archbishop. For all of Rhea’s cruelty, Hubert had no doubt that she would do anything for her child. If Byleth died under his care, the entire Adrestian Empire would pay the price for it.

So, no, murder was not an option.

But... if Byleth were to  _ just so happen _ to break a limb or two—

“I feel like going for a ride,” Hubert said, snapping the book in his gloved hands shut as he looked over at his wife. “Would you care to join me?”

***

Byleth hated horses.

This was one of the only things she held any strong opinion about, really, and she knew it was irrational. Horses were convenient, strong, and useful, and she hated them from their bulging eyes to their wretched teeth to their awful smell. But Hubert didn’t have to know that.

Horseback riding was a sound strategy, Byleth had to admit. There were so many ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident while out for a ride. But as her stubborn horse halted in its tracks for the twelfth time since they’d left, she also knew with a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t get to take advantage of the opportunity.

She suspected he’d given her a difficult horse intentionally. The creature held no fondness for her either, making it clear by sometimes simply refusing to walk until Hubert circled back around to urge it forward. They took a well-maintained dirt road from the palace stables into the royal forests—several acres of verdant land walled off for palace servants to hunt and for nobles to go riding.

Hubert looked so... out of place in the bright spring sunshine, like seeing a ghost in a field of flowers. But there was something oddly fascinating about it, too—the perfect inversion of a fairy tale prince, a creature of darkness unafraid to walk in the daylight. Begrudgingly, Byleth was growing to admire the confidence he always carried himself with. He didn’t try to camouflage himself as something he wasn’t. The world would accept him, or he would move it out of his way.

As she studied the way the sun shone against his inky black hair, she wondered what it would be like to live a life so freely.

“I can  _ feel _ you staring,” Hubert said, not turning around. “You could stand to be more subtle about it. You’ll never catch me off-guard like that.”

Byleth frowned. “Where are we going, anyway?” she asked suspiciously.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he answered, and now he turned to look at her, slowing his pace a bit until the two were side by side. Byleth felt acutely aware of how clumsy all her movements felt on horseback in comparison to his as she gripped her horse’s reins for dear life.

“What do you mean?” she surveyed the landscape around them, squinting against the late afternoon light. The grassy fields were blending into the edges of a forest, and the palace stables were far, far behind them now. She couldn’t see anything resembling a landmark or point of interest. It was just nature. “We have to be going somewhere. Otherwise, what’s the point of this?”

Hubert looked at her incredulously. She could see the debate waging on his face—the struggle of not wanting to speak to her more than necessary at war with his desire to admonish her. Admonishment won. “There isn’t a ‘point’,” he said. “It’s doing something because you enjoy doing it, not because of the end result.”

It was Byleth’s turn to give him a skeptical look. “You don’t seem the type to want to stop and smell the roses. There must be some reason you took us out here.”  _ Other than killing me _ , she added. 

“I don’t seem the type for a lot of things to you, do I?” Hubert snipped, a roll of his eyes signaling their conversation was over. He turned his horse’s reins down a different path, further into the woods, and Byleth was forced to scramble to keep up. After a few more paces, he ushered his mount to a stop with a surprising gentleness, and Byleth did the same—nearly getting thrown off in the process. 

Hubert tied his horse’s lead to a nearby tree branch, and Byleth followed suit, although her small height didn’t make it easy. “We’re here,” he announced.

Byleth looked around. They’d stopped at... a completely unremarkable point in the road. No notable views, no landmarks, nothing interesting at all. She surveyed the ground, then the branches overhead, eyes peeled for traps. Nothing. She glanced back at Hubert, all her muscles tensing with anxiety. “What’s here?”

He shrugged, gazing at the fading light through the leaves. “You seemed so intent on having a destination that I thought it only right to provide you with one. So now we’re here because I’ve decided this was where we were going all along.” He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “Are you satisfied?”

Byleth folded her arms, leaning back against a tree. “No,” she said, admittedly a little petulantly. But it was confusing—this ride had turned from Hubert trying to get her trampled by a runaway beast into him trying to prove something she didn’t understand. There was no point in this—in training without a goal, or speaking without an intent, or riding without a destination. “I don’t know why you’re being so evasive about—“

Twigs snapped under Hubert’s boots as he closed the gap between them alarmingly quickly. Byleth’s hand flew to the paring knife she’d stolen from the kitchens and hidden in the back of her vest. One of Hubert’s hands grabbed her wrist, and the other hit the tree near her head with a forcible thud, boxing her in. The branches trembled.

Byleth’s horse bolted, the miserable excuse for a tie she’d made coming loose almost immediately.

That cruel smirk was on Hubert’s face again, and he was so close, so tall, blocking out the setting sun as he leaned closer.

“You’ve figured me out,” he said, and Byleth trembled, unable to take her eyes off his. “I  _ actually _ brought you here so I could hunt you through the woods like an animal.” His free hand reached down and lightly held a strand of her hair after a moment of—hesitation? Was that right? “I’ve always found fox hunts barbaric, but I’m beginning to understand the appeal lately.”

The worn wooden handle of the knife was solid in Byleth’s grip, but she forgot how to move. His grip had felt bruising on her wrist, but it was loosening with every second. He was waiting for her reaction, she realized. Studying her to see what she would do.

And what she had done was stand there, staring uselessly, waiting to see what  _ he _ would do.

Hubert laughed as he pulled away, putting distance between the two of them. It was a genuine laugh, warm and rich and more than a little frightening in the current circumstances. The amusement in his eyes made Byleth’s cheeks burn. “Come now. There’s no need to be so frightened,” he said, his tone openly mocking. “I only wanted to see if anything could break my stoic wife’s impressive composure.”

He busied himself untying his horse, turning his back to her. The paring knife was still in her hand.

Byleth took a wobbly step forward. The dirt rustled beneath her feet.

“That child’s toy could barely get past my cape,” Hubert said. His voice had snapped back to its usual thin chilliness, like mountain air. “Do us both a favor and get a real knife before you try anything. Such desperation is unbecoming.”

She could’ve buried it in his eye when he’d pressed her back against that tree. She had been—she was—it was the adrenaline getting the better of her, she told herself, ignoring the fact that such a thing had never happened before.

“Since you’ve somehow managed to lose your horse,” he sighed, finally turning to face her and offering a hand, “I’ll let you ride with me. Up. We’re losing daylight.”

Byleth struggled to ignore the goosebumps that broke out across her skin as Hubert smiled and added, “And I very much doubt you want to be alone in the woods with me at night.”

***

A good spymaster would take advantage of any tools available to get the job done—poison, blackmail, brute force, mental trauma. One of Hubert’s prouder moments in life had been killing an assassin with the creative use of a quill pen. If it got results, it should be used.

There were very few tools Hubert von Vestra didn’t have access to, but one of them was seduction.

Results couldn’t be argued with—sex was almost embarrassingly effective at getting information out of people. Send someone pretty, unassuming, and observant to a noble you wanted out of the way, and they’d return with enough scandalous gossip to fill a book. Hubert’s job would be a lot easier if he could simply sleep with people instead of resorting to his usual methods, but that was very firmly off-limits to him.

Hubert was under no illusions about how he looked. Bluntly, he was ugly. Gaunt as a skeleton, with narrow eyes too far back in his head, a large brow and a long face. Anyone trying to feign interest in him had only done so to get closer to Edelgard, and he rebuffed these advances so thoroughly that eventually people had stopped trying altogether. His looks only bothered him as far as putting him at a disadvantage among other spies, and once he’d sublimated desire into fear, it had stopped being a problem at all. Being terrifying worked just as well as being alluring.

He had never considered he could be both. 

Truthfully, he’d been hoping Byleth would try to stab him in the woods—it would have given him the proof he needed to put her behind bars and be done with all this nonsense about “getting to know her”. But he’d seen real emotion on her doll-eyed face as he grabbed her wrist. A potent combination of arousal, curiosity, and fear, all directed at him. Now and when she’d taunted him at lunch, there was a spark of life inside her, a brief glimpse of something real under her mask.

It was... troubling.

They rode back to the palace in complete silence, with Hubert trying not to focus on how she felt pressed up against him.

He could use this.

***

Any nerves he felt were only as a result of testing a new weapon in the field. Just like it took years of training to wield a sword, it took time to master seduction. This could all backfire horribly if he’d misjudged Byleth’s feelings.

He hoped he hadn’t misjudged—and then he realized what a strange hope that was to have, and he resolved not to think about it any further as he knocked on her chamber door.

It was late, well after dinner, and most of the palace inhabitants were winding down for sleep. Byleth hadn’t been expecting Hubert to visit her the first time that day, and she certainly wasn’t expecting him a second time. She looked up at him, one hand still on the door, her mind trying to stay two steps ahead of him as she worked to figure out why he was here again.

“Hubert,” she greeted, and he noticed the monotone had slipped back into her voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I felt terrible for scaring you earlier,” Hubert lied, “and I wanted to make it up to you somehow.” From behind his back, he produced two small glasses held by the stems between his fingers and a wax-sealed bottle of alcohol Byleth couldn’t identify. “May I have the pleasure of your company for a bit longer?”

“I’m not drinking anything you give me,” Byleth said bluntly. 

The fake politeness dropped from Hubert’s face. “Smart girl, even if there’s nothing in this one. I still want to...” He tried to figure out how best to phrase it, and the words slithered out of his mouth, “...spend time with you. Drinks or not.”

After a moment, Byleth opened the door further, letting him follow her into the room as she cleared space off the small table and removed a pair of pants from one of the chairs. It looked to Hubert like she’d been writing a letter, but he couldn’t make out anything before she snatched it away. Despite the fact that she didn’t intend to drink it, he placed the bottle of cognac and both glasses in the center of the rosewood table. He unfastened his cape and draped it over the back of his chair.

He sat. She sat. And they both waited for the other to speak first.

“Did you... need something?” Byleth questioned, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. This, like the ride earlier, was pointless. There was so much she could be doing—finishing her letter to her mother, continuing to explore the palace, training. Trying to get Hubert to trust her seemed completely doomed at this point. Everything she did seemed to have the opposite effect.

Hubert sighed and began peeling the wax seal off the bottle. “You’re not one for relaxation, are you?” he asked, removing the stopper and pouring himself a drink. Drinking dulled the senses, and he’d never even considered doing it around an enemy before, but pretending to lower his guard might get her to do the same.

“It’s a waste of time,” Byleth replied. And being around Hubert was never relaxing in the first place.

“I thought the same thing, for a time,” Hubert said. “And then I saw how Lady Edelgard ran herself ragged in service to the Empire. If I didn’t step in, she’d work so hard she made herself ill—and that was a waste of time. A fever put her out of commission far longer than a ride through the woods or a trip to the opera house.” He looked at her as he picked his glass up. “Have you ever been to an opera?”

Byleth shook her head. She‘d killed a man inside an opera house in Derdriu once, slitting his throat during the ending applause to drown out the noise of him choking on his own blood, but she had a feeling that wasn’t what Hubert meant.

“There’s a production next month, during Enbarr’s founding festival. Lady Edelgard and I will be attending the closing night performance.” Regrettably, so would the Prime Minister, who never missed a single showing if he could help it. “Come with us.”

Byleth recalled how easy it had been to sneak up on the nobleman in the dim light, everyone so enraptured by the stage that nobody heard his wife screaming until the applause had started to die. No armor to cut through, no guards to sneak past. 

“I’d like that,” she said.

Hubert smiled and took another sip of his drink, enjoying the feeling of it pleasantly burning inside his chest, before he got ready to pull the rug out from beneath his traitorous wife. “We’ll have to be careful, though,” he mused, putting his glass down and slowly, slowly, peeling off his gloves. “I’ve heard rumors of some nasty business happening in opera houses outside of Enbarr.”

Byleth felt like she’d been struck. “Oh?” she asked, willing her mask not to crumble.

Hubert nodded, forcing his hands to steady as he reached up to the gold buttons on his jacket. His eyes didn’t leave Byleth’s face for a moment as he undid each button and continued speaking. “Two or three years ago—“ It had been two years and nine months. “—someone was murdered during an opera in Derdriu. A member of the Leicester Alliance Council, I believe? How dreadful.”

Byleth’s eyes had followed Hubert’s scarred and bony fingers the entire time, only circling back up to his slim neck as he pushed his jacket off his shoulders and onto the chair behind him. Seeing him in something as simple as a dress shirt and trousers felt obscene. There was a dagger strapped to his thigh, she noticed, in a black leather sheath with beautiful golden thread. She imagined, alternately, dragging that knife and her tongue across his jugular—and quickly looked away, ashamed.

The thrill that shot through Hubert’s spine as he realized he was right was nothing short of electric. He’d found a way to exploit her, a crack in her stone, and he was going to claw at it until it broke.

“Oh, but you don’t have to worry about anything like that,” he said, grinning at her as he leaned back in his chair, taking the last drink from his glass. “You’re safe with me, I assure you.”

Byleth suspected he was more dangerous now than ever. Something about him had changed. Now and in the woods earlier, he felt too comfortable—so self-assured that she could do nothing to him, a wolf regarding a sheep.

But Byleth was a wolf, too, and she wouldn’t let him forget it.

“Are you sure you can keep me safe?” she asked, leaning forward in her chair. The table he’d placed his bottle on was small, only enough for holding drinks, and placed behind their seats. When Byleth leaned on her armrest like this, she was close enough to smell him—alcohol and poison and skin. She wouldn’t let herself want him without making him want her too.

Hubert leaned closer, too, as though sharing a secret. “You know,” he said, and his heart was only racing because of the adrenaline, he was certain, “I’ve gotten a distinct feeling today that you prefer being in danger.” Steeling himself, every muscle in his body tensing in preparation to fight, he put his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up towards his.

Byleth should have been thinking about a lot of things. Stealing the knife from his thigh holster, or smashing the bottle of cognac over his head, or simmering with a silent resentment for making her endure such humiliation, vowing her eventual revenge.

Hubert should have been thinking about a lot of things. None of those things were the horrifying realization that he wanted to kiss the woman who was planning his murder. 

Not as a power play, not as manipulation—a true and genuine want that had taken a sickening, alien root inside his chest.

He stood up so quickly that Byleth was almost knocked back into her seat, grabbing his jacket off his chair. “It’s late. I have—Thank you for your time,” he said, his own voice sounding far away and uncertain, not like him at all. He was faintly conscious of Byleth asking him to wait, but he was already gone, out the door and walking down the hall so fast that he only realized he’d left his cape when he reached his own bedroom.

Blood rushed through his ears, his face uncomfortably hot. Hubert sat down on the edge of his bed and let himself bury his face in his hands, steadying his breathing with the same exercises he’d taught Edelgard years ago.

That approach with Byleth couldn’t work if  _ he _ wanted it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Sorry for the slight delay, I've been a little sick. Next chapter might take closer to a week and a half, but: more Edelgard and Ferdinand! Hubert resolutely avoiding thinking about his feelings! 
> 
> Also, my friend [BiggHoggDogg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiggHoggDogg/pseuds/BiggHoggDogg) was inspired enough by this fic to write one of their own set in this AU, about what Claude is getting up to during all this! Please give it a read, linked at the bottom of this work!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth learns more about Hubert and Edelgard's relationship. Hubert gets some unsolicited advice from a friend.

If Byleth thought Hubert was avoiding her before, now he had simply vanished from the palace entirely. Even the servants hadn’t seen him around, only fixing her with looks of pity as she asked if any of them had seen her husband. She left messages with them, asking them to be delivered if they saw him - all went unanswered.

Once more, she fell into her routine. Memorizing the palace layout. Training in secret. Searching for secret passages. Envisioning the ways she could engineer Hubert’s death in every isolated room, steep staircase, high balcony. But the excitement had vanished. Now it was simply a chore.

This situation was no different than when she first arrived, she knew. So why did it feel so much worse?

She was, after all, just as alone as she’d always been.

***

The early morning knock at her door had Byleth practically falling out of bed, still half-dressed and as much awake, to open it. She wouldn’t admit to her own expectations—or hopes—of who was outside, but it hadn’t been Edelgard.

Emperor Edelgard greeted Byleth with a smile, doing her best to avoid looking at Byleth’s exposed legs beneath her baggy sleep shirt. She was dressed for sparring, with her hair pulled neatly back and wearing none of the regal ornamentation she usually sported in public.

“Good morning, Byleth. I… apologize for waking you,” Edelgard said, choosing to focus on Byleth’s tired eyes instead of anywhere lower. “But would you care for a training session?”

***

Their session wasn’t quite as…  _ energetic _ as it had been last week. Every so often, Byleth paused to give Edelgard advice—how to hold her axe so it would be easier on her elbows, how to anticipate where Byleth’s next strikes would come from. Edelgard was a fast learner and seemed to genuinely appreciate the guidance, and the two women spent the hours before breakfast lightly sparring. There would be no bruises from this round, which was a little disappointing to Byleth, who would often, without realizing it, press her fingers into her own fresh bruises as hard as she could just to feel the pleasing soreness. But she supposed emperors couldn’t walk around covered in injuries all the time.

It was a shame.

“Byleth, will you permit me to ask a bit of a personal question?” Edelgard asked, untying the leather laces of her padded training armor. They’d finished winding down, and still had to clean their weapons and tidy up the space.

Byleth glanced at Edelgard out of the corner of her eye, curious about where this was going. “Of course,” she said, unsure if she had the right to say no.

Edelgard smiled, and there was something almost girlish about the little spark of mischief in her eyes. It reminded Byleth of the look her younger cousin would get, sometimes, when she’d ask for Byleth’s help sneaking sweets from the monastery kitchen.

It instilled a protectiveness in Byleth when Flayn did it, but seeing this same look on Edelgard’s face only inspired anxiety.

“How are you enjoying married life so far?”

Byleth blinked slowly. This wasn’t what she had expected.

Edelgard turned around, pulling the padded armor off over her head, grimacing as her undershirt stuck to her skin with sweat. “I apologize if it’s invasive,” she said, hanging the armor on a rack to be washed, “but I must admit I’m curious. Hubert is…” Byleth could see the cogs turning in the Emperor’s head as she chose the most diplomatic words for the situation. “…well. I’m certain you’ve noticed he isn’t the most outwardly friendly person.”

“I’ve noticed that, yes,” Byleth replied, recalling his threat to hunt her down in the woods.

The wooden bench Byleth sat on creaked slightly with the weight of Edelgard coming to rest beside her. “I only wanted to know if he acted any differently in private,” she said, polishing the head of her training axe as she spoke. “We’ve been together for so long, but I still can’t imagine him being…” She paused, her brow furrowing. “…romantic.”

That didn’t fit with the information Byleth had collected so far. Her mouth turned in the slightest frown. Hadn’t the entire reason for the arranged marriage been to hide Hubert and Edelgard’s relationship? If this was a lie, then what was the point of it? And if it wasn’t a lie—

How did Edelgard not see it?

There were romance novels in the monastery library—or rather, there were scriptures with romance as a central theme. Most of them followed the same general pattern, describing a pure and saintly love between two people. A willingness to die for someone, asking nothing in return except their continued existence. Treasuring them above all else. Virtuous and spotless, an unselfish love, untainted by physicality or need—how else could Hubert’s feelings for his lady be described?

It was love, it was romance, what Hubert felt for Edelgard.

Byleth rested the sword she was cleaning across her lap. “Truthfully,” she said, “I’m not very knowledgeable about romance.”

This thing Byleth had roiling inside her was not love—something dark and dirty, a vicious wanting she couldn’t explain. Sinful and raw, she’d never been able to get rid of it no matter how hard she tried, so Rhea had to settle for honing it to a sharp edge and pointing it at her enemies. These feelings could be suffered to exist, just so long as Byleth was  _ using _ them.

Edelgard smiled encouragingly. “Then that makes two of you, I suppose.”

Byleth’s eyebrow quirked up almost imperceptibly. “…I think Hubert knows more than I do,” she said bluntly, still unsure why Edelgard was keeping up the facade.

Edelgard shook her head. “No, I would know if Hubert had feelings for someone,” she said with a small laugh, getting up to carefully place the training axe back on the weapons rack.

Byleth stared after her for a moment, and then realized Edelgard wasn’t lying.

Somehow, she genuinely, truly, sincerely had no idea that Hubert was in love with her.

How could someone so smart and perceptive be so…  _ dense?! _

“How long have you two known each other, anyway?” Byleth asked, still reeling from the turn the conversation had taken.

“Hubert has always—” Edelgard started, and Byleth noticed her moment of hesitation, but said nothing, “—been there for me, since we were children. The von Vestra household has served as guardians of the Emperor for many years.” She took her seat on the bench again, her weapon cleanup finished. “While I have no love for our current system of appointing people solely based on birth… I’m still glad to have him by my side.”

Edelgard’s sharp features had softened, a look of pure tenderness on her face as she spoke. She smiled at Byleth, and for a moment there were no ulterior motives, no schemes or manipulation between the two of them. “I don’t think I’d still be here if I didn’t have him,” she said quietly. “I know Hubert can seem rather cold, but… I’d like him to be happy with you, if he can.”

There was a twinge of something unpleasant in Byleth’s gut, a sinking feeling of discomfort, eyes staring at the back of her neck like the paintings of saints and martyrs back home.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Edelgard said, and Byleth quickly resumed cleaning her training sword with a dismissive shake of her head, focusing on the dull blade instead of her growing nausea. “I have things to attend, so I’ll leave you be. But there is one other thing I wanted to mention before I go.” The Emperor stood up, rubbing one of her shoulders. “Has anyone mentioned the upcoming festival to you yet?”

Byleth tilted her head curiously. The palace had been active lately, certainly, but… well, the palace had been in a constant state of activity since she arrived. “No, I haven’t heard about it.”

Edelgard sighed. “I’d expected Hubert to have said something… no matter. Two weeks from now is Adrestian Empire Founding Day,” she said, already sounding exhausted by the thought of it. “The week leading up to it involves a lot of theatrics. Unfortunately, seeing as you’re now a member of the nobility, you’ll be expected to participate as well.”

“But I’m a terrible actor,” Byleth replied, putting her sword on the weapon rack and the cleaning rag in her pocket. 

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Edelgard laughed, and motioned for Byleth to follow her. The pair walked slowly out of the changing room, crossing the sparring arena. “Only that it’s a lot of public appearances and posturing. It’s something I haven’t been able to do away with entirely yet. People are very protective of festivals, it turns out.”

They’d reached the door leading back inside, and neither was willing to be the first to open it. “There’s a masquerade ball to kick off the week-long holiday,” Edelgard said, not bothering to hide the disdain on her face. “The old tradition supposedly stemmed from wanting to place everyone on equal terms for one evening. But I won’t mince words—it’s mostly an excuse for the nobility to get very drunk.” She smiled ruefully. “But people take it quite seriously. Some attendees even wear enchanted masks, to disguise their own voices.”

Byleth leaned back against the door frame, considering all this information. “Aren’t you worried about your safety?”

Edelgard shrugged. “No more than I am at any other public event. Besides—there are always a few people every year who come dressed as the Emperor herself. I usually try to blend in as much as I can.” She looked Byleth up and down. “I mention all this because you’ll be attending as well.”

“If we’re all anonymous, how will you know if I’m there?”

“Because I already had your outfit and mask commissioned,” Edelgard said, casually smoothing her hair over one shoulder. “And you wouldn’t refuse a personal invitation from the Emperor, would you?”

Her smile had turned sharp and coy, one finger tapping her cheek, and Byleth was forced to admit defeat. “I wouldn’t refuse,” she said, looking away.

“Excellent. I’ll summon you to help get you ready—a week from today, remember,” Edelgard reminded her, opening the heavy wooden door and disappearing down the corridor.

Before Byleth could ask how Edelgard had already gotten her measurements, she was gone.

***

There were countless herbs and tonics Hubert knew of that could heighten sexual response and arousal, and none that would suppress it.

Gods, did he have to do  _ everything _ himself?

Hubert spent the first part of the week testing what he already had in his workshop. A localized numbing agent proved too unreliable unless applied directly to the… affected area. In addition to being far too conspicuous, it also ran the risk of not being on when he needed it. Byleth was difficult to predict, after all. He needed something he could take in the moment—a pill when she was with him, or a bottle of something small enough to hide in a pocket. Dark magic wouldn’t work, either. He could do some truly terrifying things to people’s bodies with his magic, but nothing delicate enough for this.

His attempts to create something that satisfied all these conditions only left him weak-legged and dizzy, unable to do much but brace himself against his lab table and furiously wonder how his life choices had led him to this. His fingernails dug into the wooden table as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay on his feet. He had to start over—go do some research in the library, perhaps. This latest batch hadn’t even done the one thing it was developed to do, and his cheeks stung with the humiliation of defeat as his erection throbbed.

Of course, Byleth made even getting to the library a task. She still hadn’t found the entrance to his workshop yet—not even Edelgard knew its location—but he’d noticed her circling around like a shark scenting blood in the water. Hubert couldn’t risk running into her before he’d finished this new drug. It was a matter of self-defense. Doubtlessly, Byleth would jump onto his moment of weakness, as he’d done with her.

He wouldn’t let himself lose control again. There would be no more slips.

Hubert waited until she was asleep and headed to his favorite spot in Edelgard’s private library, armed with a lantern and note-taking paper. The palace was never quite empty, and even now guards still patrolled and servants still worked in the late hour, but it was blissfully quiet. The table he preferred was small, tucked away inconspicuously behind some of the more boring shelves, situated by an arched wrought-iron window covered in stained glass. Edelgard often stole away to read here with him, the pair spending afternoons in comfortable silence until her duties took her away once more.

But tonight Hubert was alone in the library, and it was exactly what he needed. Resting his paper down on the table, he picked up the lantern and got to work.

_ The Fódlan Pharmacopeia. An Illustrated Guide to Almyran Flora. Musings on Faerghus Wilderness Lore. Collected Botanical Studies of Dagda. _ Several small, untitled texts detailing folk remedies from various regions. It took him the better part of an hour to scour the shelves by candlelight, and he had to pile some of the books on the floor where they wouldn’t fit on the table. Hubert double-checked his lantern, shed his jacket onto the back of his chair, and settled in for the night.

While he wished it could have been under better circumstances, he was glad for the chance to spend the night diving into research. The library was completely silent at night. His only distractions were the pleasant, soft glow of his candlelight lantern and the quiet rustling as he turned the pages. Even his own constant, anxious thoughts began to quiet, and Hubert lost himself in reading.

Even in the texts he’d pulled from the shelves, he wasn’t having much luck. Once again, he had to face the fact that most people wanted to make something achieving the exact opposite of what he needed. Countless recipes—most of which were ineffective anyway—promising heightened arousal, fertility, ways to cure male impotence… But certainly, if he kept looking, inspiration would strike him. Perhaps there was a plant he was overlooking.

The library door opened.

Hubert froze, straining to listen. The footsteps were too heavy to be someone trying to hide their presence. They moved right to a particular shelf—Hubert guessed somewhere around the fiction section—and… was that humming? It was someone without a care in the world that they were in the Emperor’s private library at an ungodly hour.

Oh no.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s curious face peered around the shelves, holding a lantern of his own, his expression brightening into an irritatingly perfect smile the moment he spotted Hubert. “Ah, Hubert! I was wondering who was awake at this hour. I should have known!” he laughed, taking a seat in the opposite chair without asking permission. The Prime Minister somehow didn’t even look disheveled, waltzing around Edelgard’s library in his burgundy dress robe as though it was his own.

…true, Edelgard had technically designated this space for the three of them, but still. It was the principle of it.

Hubert rubbed his forehead as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, already feeling his headache returning. “Hello, Ferdinand,” he forced, wasting no more time on pleasantries. “Why are you awake at this hour? You’ve always—very insistently—sung the praises of keeping to a regular sleep schedule.”

Ferdinand’s smile didn’t leave, but he looked a bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Even I sometimes have trouble sleeping, you know. I had simply thought to come do some light reading until I fell asleep,” he said, brushing strands of long hair out of his face. “But then I spotted your lantern! And you looked like you could use a distraction.”

“Do I.”

“Well, yes,” Ferdinand said, adding his book to the pile as he made himself comfortable. Hubert squinted at the spine in the lamplight— _ The Adventures of Sir Frances, Knight. _ Even the title sounded insipid. Heedless of Hubert’s silent judgment, Ferdinand continued. “You get a most unpleasant look on your face when you are frustrated. Once you hit that point… I hate to say it, but you do not usually make much progress. It would do you well to take a break.”

Hubert blinked, sitting upright in his chair, feeling his bones pop as he stopped hunching over. “That was… remarkably insightful of you,” he admitted. He hadn’t noticed until Ferdinand pointed it out, but his eyes were starting to ache from the strain of reading in the dim light, and his shoulders and back were starting to ache. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a small break.”

Ferdinand beamed. “I am full of good advice,” he said proudly, looking like a lion puffing out his chest. “And as such, perhaps you could tell me what troubles you? I am happy to lend an ear.”

Hubert crossed one leg, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned back. Ferdinand hadn’t exactly been fully briefed on the situation with Byleth. Hubert had barely wanted to tell Edelgard his motives for the wedding. She’d forced it out of him with the threat of trying him for treason if he didn’t tell her the truth, something he knew she was completely serious about from the hurt in her eyes. As far as Ferdinand knew, this was a purely politically-motivated marriage to a young woman who wasn’t trying to murder him.

He still didn’t want to tell Ferdinand the whole truth—if Ferdinand knew Hubert intended to keep Byleth as a hostage, there was little doubt they’d get into a shouting match in the middle of the library. But perhaps speaking out loud could let him look at this a different way.

“It’s… about Byleth,” Hubert said slowly, still not enjoying the way her name left a sour coating in his mouth.

Ferdinand nodded, leaning forward in his seat. “Ah, I see. Marital problems,” he said solemnly.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Hubert muttered.

With a look of unprecedented seriousness, Ferdinand firmly placed one hand on Hubert’s shoulder. “Hubert, as your best friend—”

Hubert’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He was so struck by the accusation that he didn’t even swat Ferdinand’s hand away, even as he opened his mouth to object. Was that the impression this fool was under?! That their years of bickering since childhood, their near-constant arguments, their completely irreconcilable personalities—that they’d led to friendship? As if the concept of Hubert having a best friend wasn’t laughable enough, that it would be  _ Ferdinand von Aegir? _

Ferdinand, who challenged every single idea Hubert presented to the Emperor? …even if sometimes— _ only sometimes _ —it led to a better plan? Ferdinand, who was infuriatingly good at his job and seemed hellbent on inserting himself into Hubert’s life? Ferdinand, who…

…checked in on him at the library, who reminded him to take breaks, who knew him well enough to see when he was struggling instead of running away at the sight of him?

Hubert’s protest died in his throat, and he let his best friend keep talking.

“—I want you to know that sexual dysfunction is nothing to be ashamed of,” Ferdinand said.

Hubert closed his eyes. He regretted everything. “That,” he said, counting his breathing, “is not the issue at hand.”

“You do not have to hide it,” Ferdinand insisted, and Hubert opened his eyes to see him tapping at the open book in front of him. It was a small book of homemade remedies from Brigid, and the last page Hubert had left off on was detailing the uses of a plant called “damiana”—a flowering shrub that thrived in the region’s warm climates, most commonly used as an aphrodisiac and sexual stimulant for older men. There was even a  _ very _ informative illustration accompanying the plant’s description. “I am certain we can find something closer to Fódlan than this that will still get the job done. I can be discreet, if you need help finding a merchant for—”

The book snapped shut almost violently, and Ferdinand jolted back, no longer in Hubert’s space. “Ferdinand, don’t make me repeat myself. That’s not the issue,” Hubert said, perhaps a little too emphatically. “I am having the opposite problem.” He immediately winced as he said it, and felt his cheeks flush uncharacteristically. He hadn’t meant to say anything else.

“The opposite…?” Ferdinand repeated, his manicured brows furrowing for a moment before his amber eyes grew wide. “Oh—you—uh—too much?” he asked, the pitch of his voice raising with every syllable.

Hubert turned to look out the window, in spite of the fact that it was pitch black and there was nothing to see. Anywhere but at Ferdinand. He rubbed his temples and tried to figure out how to word this. “I don’t trust her,” he said, content to leave it at that understatement for now. “And I don’t want to be compromised when I have to be around her.”

“Compromised,” Ferdinand said, as though he was having trouble believing what he was hearing. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the round table between them. “Hubert, why can you not simply allow yourself to enjoy her company?”

“Because that would be foolish,” Hubert scoffed. “Have you so quickly forgotten she’s the daughter of our enemy?”

Ferdinand’s chair creaked as he sat up straighter, folding his arms, an almost childish pout on his face. “I have not forgotten!” he huffed, tossing his hair. “I trust in your ability to protect yourself—you are one of the most capable men I know, after all. Is it impossible for you to both stay safe and make an honest effort to… be nice?”

A dry laugh escaped Hubert’s throat as he finally let himself look at Ferdinand again. “You’re asking  _ me _ to be  _ nice? _ ”

Ferdinand waved one hand dismissively, resting his elbow on the arm of his seat. “I am aware I would have better luck training a pig to fly,” he said, but there was no real malice in his tone. “But, frankly, I find it rather encouraging that Byleth has you so worked up. I do not recall ever seeing you lose control of yourself.”

“What—no. That isn’t a good thing.”

“But it is!” Ferdinand said, and oh no, he was delighted by something, and Hubert couldn’t tell what. He was gesturing with his hands now as he spoke, which meant it was going to take a lot of work to talk him down from whatever was going on in his head. “Someone provoking such strong emotions in you could become something wonderful for you both, if you are not afraid to let it take shape.”

“I am not afraid of—of having feelings,” Hubert spat. “Once again, both you and Lady Edelgard fail to understand—”

Ferdinand’s lips curled in a mischievous, almost catlike grin. “Ah, so Edelgard agrees with me?”

Hubert cursed himself for letting that slip, and started gathering his papers. “This has been even less productive than I thought it would be,” he said bitterly. “I will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, where I will pretend this encounter never happened.” Ferdinand didn’t even have the decency to look glum—that smile was still on his face, and he looked like he knew something Hubert didn’t. The Prime Minister watched in silence as Hubert ferried his books back to their proper shelves, only speaking up when Hubert pulled his jacket on over his shoulders.

“Hubert,” he called, and Hubert fixed him with his most frightening glare. Ferdinand ignored it, as always. “I am not naive enough to think my methods can work in every situation you find yourself in, but I urge you to give my advice sincere consideration. That is all I have ever asked, from you or Edelgard.” He picked up his own book, flipping through the pages to find his old place in it, resting his cheek on his hand as he started reading. “Honesty begets honesty. The daughter of our enemy could become our most valued ally if you only push yourself to step outside your usual methods. Sleep on it.”

Hubert left the library, his thoughts more chaotic than when he’d entered, and started down the dark hallways to his bedchamber.

It was difficult to tell how much of the unpleasant feeling in his gut was wounded pride. Hubert and Ferdinand had come a long way since their days at the Officers Academy, where they were constantly at one another’s throats, and Hubert had been forced to admit he’d disregarded good advice simply because Ferdinand had been the one to say it. But there was still a twinge of rebellion there, an instinctive urge to simply say no and do things his own way whenever he didn’t like what solutions Ferdinand had to offer.

But there was a full-body revulsion to the idea of treating Byleth as anything other than a threat—the idea of letting her be close to him, or worse, letting himself be close to her. Like a scream trying to claw out of his chest, a panic he slammed down beneath the heel of his boot, it gnawed at him every time he tried to imagine what it would be like to accept Edelgard and Ferdinand’s advice.

As Hubert pulled his bedsheets over himself, he wondered: what would a normal life with her even look like?

The married nobles he kept tabs on lived perfectly normal lives. They had children, they worked, they came home to one another’s company. They went to gatherings appropriate to their stations. They indulged in their perfectly normal hobbies. They were happy, and Hubert could not fathom why.

They didn’t try to poison one another, or constantly keep their husband guessing when the next assassination attempt would happen, or respond to threats with arousal, or any of the things—

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Or any of the things he would  _ miss  _ about Byleth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay with this chapter, everyone! The last scene was giving me a lot of trouble - I actually had a completely different version written out, but I wasn't pleased with it so I ended up redoing most of the scene. As always, thank you for reading and for your kind comments. Even if I don't reply, I read all of them and each one fills me with joy ;_; I've been looking forward to the next chapter since I started outlining, so I hope you'll enjoy it too.
> 
> The title of the book Ferdinand is reading is a small reference to my dear friend's amazing Hubert/Ferdinand fic, [Overactive Imagination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179918/chapters/50415764). It's the perfect mix of funny, sweet, and sexy - please give it a read! I wouldn't have even started this fic without their support.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the Imperial Masquerade arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains **explicit sex** and **gender play**.

The day of the Imperial Masquerade had arrived. Byleth awoke with something buzzing and strange in her stomach that she understood to be either excitement or anxiety—a strange feeling, for her, given that no one was about to be murdered today.

The morning was a blur. Emperor Edelgard gave a commencement speech from the palace pavilion, which her court was expected to attend. Hubert and Ferdinand stood dutifully behind her, flanking her heels like a silent pair of guard dogs. It was the first time Byleth had seen her husband since that night in her room when they’d almost kissed.

If Hubert could feel her gaze on him for the entirety of the Emperor’s speech, he didn’t react. Byleth used the time to study him, seeing as he couldn’t turn to confront her—he could only stare forward, arms folded behind his back, joyless and statuesque.

Something was different. He seemed… tired. More tired—the dark circles beneath his eyes were an ever-present feature from the moment she’d met him, but they’d deepened. His hair was a bit longer, too. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but the fine black hair on the nape of his neck had grown enough to cling to his skin, curling like tiny vines.

For the briefest moment, without moving an inch, his gaze shifted to hers out of the corner of his eye before he returned to staring stoically at the assembled crowd below.

Byleth assumed the preparations for the festival were taking a toll on him. It made sense—ensuring the Emperor’s safety through a solid week of very public appearances could not have been a simple task. Byleth herself had no idea how she could keep someone safe through all that.

But she knew where she would strike, if she planned to.

*******

Edelgard waved her over with a quick hand gesture after the commencement ceremony, and Byleth followed. They walked through the palace halls side by side, making idle conversation until Byleth realized they were outside the Emperor’s bedchamber. The guards on either side of the tall iron door bowed deeply as the pair approached before moving to open the door to allow them inside.

“Do you and your guest require an escort, Your Majesty?” one of them asked, glancing at Byleth beneath the visor of his helmet.

“There’s no need, thank you,” Edelgard replied as she smoothly breezed past, her crimson cape trailing behind her. Byleth was careful not to step on it as she followed her inside. “Lady Vestra and I would appreciate privacy. I’ll summon you if your presence is required.”

Byleth wondered if she would ever get used to that name, or if her job would be finished before she had the chance.

Edelgard’s tone and status left no room for argument, and the guards merely bowed once more before closing the door behind them. The Emperor was already reaching up to her hair to unclasp the ornamental golden horns from the sides of her head. “You have no idea what a headache these give me if I wear them for too long,” she grumbled. “Byleth, will you take my cape?”

For a moment, she hesitated as she reached up to comply. How strange—to stand behind someone, so close to them, with her hands around their neck, because they’d asked her to. 

Trying to push the thoughts away, Byleth delicately undid the buttons on Edelgard’s cape, one shoulder at a time, before draping the heavy garment over one of the elaborate chairs in the room.

It was difficult to tell how much of the decor was Edelgard’s personal taste or how much was what was simply expected of the Emperor’s chambers, but Byleth suspected it was mostly the latter. Everything was red and gold, all of the wood so dark it was nearly black. It was all so opulent, so extravagant—from the sitting area by the fire to the canopied four-poster bed, the garden outside and the dressing area around the corner. Even the bed alone was larger than some of the living areas the monks at Garreg Mach slept in.

Would Edelgard truly be able to give all of this up? Would anyone, if they’d grown up in it?

Edelgard finished removing the heavy headpiece, setting it on a dressing table as she let her white hair tumble down. When she turned on her velvet-covered stool to face Byleth, it was with that now-familiar mischievous smile on her lips. “I believe I told you last week I’d prepared an outfit for you tonight.”

“You did say that,” Byleth replied, looking over at a conspicuously out-of-place folding screen that had been set up in the bedroom.

“Close your eyes,” Edelgard demanded, and Byleth reluctantly did so, her ears instinctively straining and her muscles on edge. She heard Edelgard get up and cross the room to the folding screen, followed by the awkward noises of her closing the screen and shuffling it over, placing it down on her bed with a soft thump.

“Now open.”

It took Byleth several moments to comprehend that she was looking at clothing. The garment on the mannequin in front of her more resembled an art piece, the fabric having assumed an almost sculptural quality instead of the softness she’d expected. As she looked closer, she saw it wasn’t cloth, but leather so glossy it looked like white marble, all harsh angles and pointed edges. Metallic accents—buckles and rivets holding the leather in place—sparkled golden in the afternoon sunlight, and the clawed fingers of the gloves looked like they’d been dipped in it too.

But it was nothing without the mask.

Two pure white horns stretched up from the mask’s forehead, curved and wicked, capped with gold that ran down the length like shimmering blood. There was no mouth, no eyes; only faceless white marble encompassing the entire head, secured to the rest of the outfit with a golden collar.

Byleth’s mouth went dry as she stared at the Ashen Demon come to life before her.

“Do you like it?” Edelgard asked, running her fingers along the gold collar, holding the padlock at the center between her fingers. “I wasn’t sure if it would be to your taste. You can be quite difficult to read, after all.”

“I…” was all Byleth could manage, unable to hear her own thoughts over the sound of her blood pumping.

Edelgard didn’t make her flounder for long, a small mercy. She set to work removing the mask from the mannequin. “Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see and speak. I’m not that cruel,” she said, undoing the collar, but Byleth wasn’t sure if that was true any longer. “There’s a bit of magic on it, so you can see through as though you’re not wearing a mask at all. And it’ll disguise your voice.” Edelgard passed the mask over, and now that it was in Byleth’s hands she could feel that it was far softer than it looked. “Ah, and I took the liberty of including another garment in the chest piece.”

Byleth tilted her head, gladly taking the opportunity to stop looking at the mask. “Another garment?”

“It’s a compression piece,” Edelgard said, meticulously undoing the buckles at the back of the costume. “To give you a more masculine figure.”

“And that’s… normal?” Byleth asked curiously. “For this event? Women dressing up as men?”

Edelgard smiled. “And the reverse,” she added with a nod. “It’s a night where we agree to cast off whatever roles society has in mind for us so we can become something else. Whatever we want, just for a night.” She laid the pieces of white leather out on her own bed, where they stuck out like shards of bone against her deep burgundy duvet. “The symbolism behind the masquerade is beautiful, I think, even if we lose sight of it as the years pass.” Gesturing at the costume, Edelgard looked over at Byleth. “Perhaps next year you can design your own outfit.”

The mask was heavy. Byleth stared at the spot where eyes should have been.

It was pointless to think about what else she could be. This was what the Goddess had decided for her the moment she was born.

But, if she could…

“Shall we get ready?” Edelgard asked.

*******

The costume hadn’t been as difficult to put on as she expected. The strange, vest-like compression garment did indeed flatten Byleth’s ample chest to the best of its ability, and the heavy leather of the top disguised most of the remaining bulk. She resolutely ignored Edelgard’s breath softly hitting the back of her neck as she fastened up the top buckles, and after that was taken care of, it was her turn to help the Emperor.

Byleth's hands hesitated again. "Are you certain you don't want Hubert to help you with this instead?" she asked.

The roll of Edelgard's eyes was about what Byleth had expected. "No, of course not. Hubert isn't even allowed to _ see _ my costumes anymore. If he figures out who I am, he spends all night trying to guard me instead of having fun. Now stop complaining and lace me up."

Edelgard’s costume was meant to represent—abstractly, she insisted—some sort of carnivorous plant, which Byleth thought was a surprisingly mundane choice. “A dear friend designed it for me,” Edelgard explained as Byleth helped tie up the delicate strings on the back of her deep emerald shirt. “They’re her favorite thing, and she has such a wonderfully creative mind. Hopefully I can get her out of her room sometime to meet you.”

“You didn’t want to go for something more…” Byleth started, considering how to phrase this.

“I prefer to blend in as much as I can,” Edelgard finished for her. “I’d rather wear something beautiful that a friend created than something designed to grab attention.” She smiled, turning around as Byleth finished the last lace. “And there will be _ more _ than enough people vying for attention.”

As always, Edelgard cut a stunning figure. Her clothes were a green so dark they were almost black, fake plant vines wrapping around her tall leather boots. Several delicate white flowers cascaded from her shoulder around to her feet, sewn onto the fabric. The finishing piece, and the focus of it all, was a horrifyingly gorgeous mask shaped like the plant’s carnivorous cage. Dark green opened to a blood-red center, fanning out on either side of her head with a latticed cage of cilia forming the plant’s trap across her face.

“You’re still going to get attention,” Byleth said.

“Flatterer,” Edelgard replied, helping Byleth get her hands into the gloves. “When you take this off tonight, gloves first, then you can untie the mask easier.”

It was a team effort, gathering up Byleth’s green hair so none of it spilled out of the mask, and one that involved far too much of Edelgard’s fingers grazing her scalp. The tugs on her hair, too—those were accidental as Edelgard tied the laces on the mask tight, but she didn’t seem particularly sorry about it. A dull, repressed arousal flared before Byleth banished the thoughts from her head. All this foolishness was taking a toll on her.

True enough, Byleth could still see through the mask, and as she looked in Edelgard’s full-length mirror, her eyes widened.

Her silhouette was terrifying. A faceless demon, moving with purpose, devoid of Byleth’s inviting curves or soft, doe-eyed expressions.

Was this what she really looked like?

“Beautiful,” Edelgard said from beside her, equally monstrous. The feelings Byleth banished moments earlier roared back to life, ugly and wanting. “Let’s go.”

*******

The grand hall wasn't big enough for the celebration, and so an entire wing of the palace was designated for the masquerade. The foyer was full of costumed nobles standing and talking, their laughter and chatter echoing off the high ceilings. There were costumes of every shape and color, every theme and object—the night sky, a golden deer, a witch covered in roses. Women as princes and men as queens, and people whose gender Byleth couldn’t tell at first glance. The chandeliers cast a warm glow over everything, and people excitedly twirled to show off their costumes to one another before entering the grand hall itself.

It was beautiful, breathtaking, and entirely overwhelming. 

“Is that person dressed up as _ you _?” Byleth asked, still unused to the sound of her magically deepened voice.

Edelgard turned her head to look. “Oh, my,” she said, amused, “that’s one of the better Emperor Edelgards I’ve seen in the last few years.”

The individual in question wore a mask fashioned after Edelgard’s ceremonial golden horns, with flowing white hair and a fur-lined crimson cloak that trailed several feet behind them. Or, Byleth had thought it was a cloak, until they turned around. It appeared to be the entirety of the outfit, leaving their pale skin exposed down to the collarbones and small cleavage, parting to allow their long legs to peek through the robe’s front opening as they walked. It was all topped off with an axe made of roses in one hand.

“Very risque,” Edelgard said, and Byleth could hear the smile in her voice even if she couldn’t see it. “I wonder who—”

“Thank you, thank you! I daresay I make a better Edelgard than Edelgard does!” the costume wearer said to a cooing onlooker, in a voice so cheerful and boisterous even Byleth recognized its owner instantly.

The Prime Minister had shockingly nice calves.

Edelgard sighed from within her fly trap mask, folding her arms. “Go ahead inside. I need to speak to Ferdinand about forgetting to glamour his voice. Again. For the third year in a row.”

With that, she walked purposefully towards Ferdinand, leaving Byleth alone in the crowd. Heeding Edelgard’s advice, she weaved her way through groups of people, ignoring the feeling of so many eyes on her, and stepped into the grand hall.

The lighting here was darker. A masked band played music fit for ballroom dancing, and dance people did, in elegant, memorized steps and patterns. They moved in imperfect synchronicity, like a swarm of insects, spreading out and closing in as dictated by some unseen signal. Byleth had to look away, circling the outer edges of the room as she continued to observe.

Doors opened that led out into the palace gardens, allowing a refreshing spring breeze to cool down the heat of the grand hall. Toward the far walls of the room, people spoke to one another in shadow, their conversations overwhelmed by the noise of the dancers and a thousand other secretive whispers occurring at once. 

The more Byleth looked, the more she felt like she’d stepped through a door and come out somewhere else entirely, somewhere far outside Fódlan. Surrounded by gorgeous monsters and impossible creatures, how could any rules she knew apply here?

She’d truly been content to watch, a statuesque demon silently judging. People would see her eyeless face turned towards them, staring, and they’d point and whisper to their conversation partners. But this fear was something enjoyable—for her and for them.

Before she knew it, it had become something fun.

The Ashen Demon moved towards them. Sometimes straight on, not bothering to disguise herself, and sometimes stalking, getting closer and closer over time, waiting for them to notice her before she vanished from sight or closed in. 

But it didn’t end with a knife in their back or a slit across their throat. It ended with a friendly tap on their shoulder when they didn’t expect it, or a wordless stare, or something else that would make them let out a delighted little cry of faux-terror before laughing and telling her what a beautiful costume she had, how frightening she was. Or, rather, how frightening _ he _ was.

Byleth felt drunk off the game she’d created, and soon she forgot all about looking for Edelgard, focused entirely on searching for new prey, wreaking her joyful havoc on the masked revelers. 

Until someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Byleth came face to face with the most blasphemous thing she’d ever seen.

The woman who demanded her attention was dressed in an overt mockery of the habits the nuns at Garreg Mach Monastery wore, with her face covered by a long, dark veil. Those same patterns and insignias Byleth had spent her entire life looking at—all wrong. Her black dress was tight, too tight, clinging to her like a desperate lover, inviting eyes to wander. The heels on her thigh-length boots made someone who was already tall even taller.

What Byleth noticed first, though, was the blood.

It looked real, though it couldn’t have been, because it hadn’t seeped off onto her leather. The nun’s gloved hands were stained with dark blood, soaked in it. It splattered across her dress and veil, and Byleth was overcome with a desire to see if it was on her face beneath, too.

Her mother would have screamed. It was nothing short of sacrilege, intentional and malicious, meant to offend. Byleth should have been angry, not fascinated. She should have turned and left.

She didn’t.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” the woman said, her low voice warm with amusement. In the dim light, her veil may as well have been a solid mask of its own. “Hunting nobles instead of dancing.” 

“I’ve had more practice with the former,” Byleth replied.

The nun laughed quietly, leaning back against the wall. “I can tell. You’ve been very fun to watch.”

Byleth tilted her head, not knowing how eerie the gesture looked with a featureless face. “That doesn’t seem very becoming for a nun,” she said.

The woman spread her arms wide, gesturing at herself, and Byleth finally let her eyes roam across her sharp body. “Do you doubt my devotion?” she asked. “What does the Church of Seiros stand for if not delighting in the suffering of others? For watching idly while people come to harm?”

Realizing that she didn’t care was more of a shock to Byleth than any heresy spilling out of the woman’s mouth. It didn’t… gladden her to hear it, of course, but she should have felt _ something _. Instead there was only the current of heat between her legs that had been present all night, rapidly becoming harder to ignore.

She stepped forward, following the woman into shadow. “Did you only want my attention so you could praise me?” she asked, feeling bold, pressing her body up against the nun’s. 

The woman reached down with one bloodstained hand, running her fingers around the jaw of Byleth’s mask, tilting her chin up. “Don’t you hunger for better prey?” she asked, and the words were a jolt to Byleth’s spine. “There’s not enough sport for you in scaring lazy nobles, is there, little demon?” Her hips moved forward, almost imperceptibly, and Byleth felt something unexpected and hard against her pelvis through the leather.

For a moment her mind started to shift the situation, but she recalled Edelgard’s words earlier—about becoming anything one wanted.

“You think a woman of the cloth will give me a better chase?” Byleth asked, letting the fantasy guide her as she, too, slowly became someone else. “Especially one who wants it to happen so badly?”

The nun’s smile was evident even in her voice. “I know I will,” she said, her tone full of promise, “and I know I’ll give you a much better reward than them if you catch me.”

Byleth sucked in a breath as she watched the woman’s other hand drift down her own chest, fondling her flat bosom. There could be no mistaking what this was an invitation for: to hunt down this complete stranger and have her way with her. Unbidden, she thought of Hubert’s face looming over her in the forest, how she’d wanted him to go further. 

It was wrong, this other woman tempting her, and it had been wrong every time she’d wanted Edelgard the same way. It had been wrong when she’d hoped Edelgard’s lingering gazes and soft touches were intentional. 

But if Byleth could be someone else tonight, if she could channel the only man she’d ever wanted—

He reached up to grab the woman by the collar of her unholy dress, pulling her face down to his, grinding against her erection. “Start running,” he growled.

*******

The Ashen Demon followed the nun through the palace halls.

The ball was still in full swing, but most of the action was centered in the grand hall and foyer. There were rooms designated for the ball, for quieter gathering places, and the demon stalked past. More than once he turned a corner only to terrify a couple having a tryst in what they thought was an abandoned hallway, and it only made his pace increase. His mind swam with thoughts of what he’d do when he caught the woman, clawed fingers itching to dig into her skin. There was a persistent noise, an animalistic panting in his ears, and it took him too long to realize it was his own breathing, echoing in the confines of the mask.

Several prowling circuits of the wing hadn’t turned up a single sign of the nun. The demon decided to expand his search. This floor of the palace was one he knew intimately—secret passages included. It was a trivial matter to duck past guards stationed at the exits to the wing, stepping into a servant hall and reemerging behind them.

A long black glove, covered in fake blood, was delicately laid out on a windowsill as a greeting. He was getting closer. Swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, the demon resumed chase, darting through dark halls as the noise and merriment of the masquerade faded further and further away. He could run now without fear of being seen, and he did, scarcely even noticing the horns and their strange weight on his head anymore.

The woman leaned expectantly against the wall of the hallway she’d camped out in. The length of the hall was illuminated by the moon in the window behind her, casting long shadows as she turned her head to face her hunter.

“Oh, well done,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d bother to—”

But the Ashen Demon was upon her, and he didn’t need to speak; only to take. 

With rough motions, the way he’d fantasized, he dug his golden claws into her shoulders enough to sting, shoving her down onto her knees. It was his turn to lean against the wall, and he reached to undo the laces of his trousers, still panting under his mask.

The woman ran her hands up his thighs, squeezing, veiled face looking up. “The masks stay on,” she said, a note of warning in her voice, “and you do not look.” The demon nodded in understanding, frantically pushing the tight white leather down past his wide hips, exposing himself for this stranger.

His arousal was painful, all-consuming. He’d never hungered for this so badly before. Sex was a necessity. It was sucking someone’s cock, it was moaning theatrically even when it didn’t feel good, it was getting someone to let their guard down to strike. It was not a charismatic stranger hungrily devouring his cunt before he could even push her face into it.

The demon’s moans—sincere, for the first time in his life—sounded like growls through the glamour of his mask, and that only turned him on more. He gripped the woman’s head, directing her as he pleased. He didn’t know what felt good, but Goddess, he was learning quickly. She was incredible, parting his lips with one hand so she could enthusiastically lap at him, dragging her tongue from his entrance to his clit. It was good, and it wasn’t enough—it felt like everything she did was only getting him more and more worked up, increasing his need instead of relieving any of the agonizing tension he felt.

The silence of the hallway made their noises sound more obscene to his ears, and even though his mask didn’t have a visible mouth, the demon reached a hand up to cover it anyway, vaguely aware that they could be caught if a patrolling guard happened to hear them. But it was difficult to focus on anything when the nun took his clit into her mouth and sucked on it. The demon’s vision went white as his mask, his knees trembling, and he nearly doubled over at the sensation, resting his hands on her shoulders for stability.

For all that he’d felt frenzied as he hunted her down, she matched his feverish pace, pursuing his orgasm with ravenous intent. Her fingers reached around to squeeze his ass as she angled her face to reach her tongue deeper inside, still sucking. The Ashen Demon whimpered, feeling his tension about to snap, and the woman responded by dragging her teeth across his clit.

It was hard not to scream as he came, but he did, biting his lip so hard he knew he’d bruised it. And the woman didn’t stop, still keeping that delicious pressure from her teeth on the hood of his clit, her tongue moving in slow, gentle strokes through his folds as he came down from his orgasm.

This wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me,” the Ashen Demon demanded, voice raspy as he caught his breath.

“Gladly,” the nun responded, pulling her mouth off his cunt. He shivered as the cold air made contact with the wetness she’d left behind, pulling his pants further down his thighs.

The nun reached below her veil to wipe the demon’s cum and her own saliva off her chin with the palm of a hand, and his pussy twitched as he watched. She stood, pulling up her tight black dress, and the demon could see her erection press achingly into her black underwear for a moment before it sprung free. Her hipbones were wide and prominent, casting shadows in the divots of her muscle right down to her sex. 

“Such a shame that mask doesn’t have a hole for your mouth,” the nun whispered, rubbing their accumulated fluids up the length of her cock. It was a stunning sight in the moonlight, her black leather glove stroking her glistening, thick shaft before she pressed the head against the demon’s eager pussy.

Something else glinted in the light, just for a moment. Threads of gold embroidery shone off the dagger holster on the nun’s thigh—

The dagger holster Edelgard had custom made for Hubert.

Hubert’s cock entered her, and Byleth couldn’t hold back her shocked scream as she clung to his shoulders. He picked her up, her knees pressed against her chest as he gripped her ass and fucked her against the wall, his breathing ragged in her ear. Byleth’s mind was racing uncontrollably even as every smack of his hips against her threatened to push every thought out of her head. 

_ Does he know?! Should I tell him?! I don’t want it to stop— _

“Ngh!” she gasped, letting her head loll back as he drove inside her with deep thrusts. It felt so good, the way he moved his hips, angling himself so every time he pulled out the friction was rubbing against her clit. Every time she moaned, he chased it, keeping up the pace she wanted until she thought she could sob from overstimulation. She was supposed to be in charge, to be the one ravaging her prey, but all she could do was take it.

“Shh,” he commanded, “you don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

Even as he said so, Hubert buried himself inside her again to the hilt, challenging her to break and scream anyway. Byleth whimpered, a demon laid low by him once more—and he had no idea he was even doing it.

Byleth wrapped her arms around him, claws digging into his back, and his responding moan brought her close to the edge. Their breathing was a mess, sucking in lungfuls of air beneath masks, his chest heaving with the exertion of carrying her while fucking her. She wished she could have seen his face beneath the veil. Black hair stuck to his face with sweat, mouth open, cheeks flushed.

The thought made her come around his cock with a high cry, the possibility of someone hearing no longer a concern. Hubert hissed, her sudden tightness almost painful for them both as her pussy gripped him, and he had to stop moving. Both braced against the wall, he simply held her there, legs shaking as he waited for her breathing to return to normal. 

Byleth’s hands and face felt strangely numb. For a moment, she wondered if maybe he'd drugged her again, and then decided she didn't care.

Hubert’s dick, still hard, slipped out of her with a wet noise and she slid to her knees before him. Realizing he still hadn’t come—and, more alarmingly, that she _ wanted _ to make him come—Byleth reached up to wrap her hands around his cock, careful with her clawed fingertips, pumping his slick shaft in her hands. He reached down the way she had minutes earlier, gripping the horns on her mask, and she watched the muscles in his thighs tense up.

He came with a noise made all the more lascivious for the fact that it was _ him _ making it. His cum splattered onto the white of her mask, in her hands, but she was transfixed by the sounds he made, the way his body trembled. These were things he couldn’t hide, couldn’t lie about. He wasn’t experienced enough to fake it like she was. 

For the first time—dressed in a costume—Hubert had been honest with her.

A few moments passed, and Byleth realized how silent the hallway was without the ecstatic noises of their sex. She was becoming herself again, and the shame was setting in.

Hubert’s hand stroked one of Byleth’s horns almost tenderly. “I told you I’d give you a better reward than anyone else,” he said smugly.

Byleth’s throat was dry. She nodded in response, still catching her breath. He hadn’t made any indication that he knew who she really was, and the voice-changing properties of her mask hadn’t failed yet, but she was overcome with a horrible fear that it would at this moment. That this would be ruined by him realizing who the stranger he’d fucked was, and that this memory would be irrevocably tainted with Hubert's regret.

Taking the hand he offered to help her up, Byleth stood on wobbly legs, wiping his cum off on her pants before pulling them back up and redoing the laces with trembling fingers.

“You… were quite fun,” Hubert said, dress and gloves back in place, looking as though nothing had happened. It was enough to make Byleth wonder if she’d dreamt the entire thing. He reached forward to stroke her chin again, waiting for a reply.

“I—” Byleth said, practically whispering. “You were… amazing.”

Hubert huffed a little, a soft exhalation of laughter. “It’s a shame we’ll never meet again after this.”

It was Byleth’s turn to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdie's outfit is inspired by [Rihanna's 2015 Met Gala look](https://media.vanityfair.com/photos/554821267df477df32ed0603/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/met-gala-2015-rihanna-dress-breakout.jpg), because I am a raging homosexual.
> 
> ...oh, right, and the other stuff. I hope I succeeded in portraying gender-bending and cross-dressing as a sexy, joyful experience, even during a fraught scene. I tried to make it clear that any fraughtness (I'm an author!) is not a result of gender identity or anatomy.
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read this story! The next update will probably have to be delayed until the new year because of holiday and work stuff. I love and appreciate every single one of your comments, and I hope 2020 brings you as much happiness as possible.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth’s relationship with Hubert has changed, but more surprisingly, so has her relationship with Edelgard. Edelgard, Hubert, and Ferdinand discuss plans for their upcoming coup.

As Byleth hit the packed dirt of the training arena, she knew she’d gotten another bruise. Everything was going wrong today. Edelgard had never been able to get so many hits in one session, even with her constant improvement, but today Byleth could feel multiple new welts forming under her training armor. A small frown crossed her features as she took Edelgard’s hand, letting the Emperor pull her to her feet. 

“Are you feeling unwell today?” Edelgard asked. She was breathing hard too, sweat making strands of white hair cling to her forehead, so at least Byleth wasn’t making this easy for her. 

Byleth struggled to find the words as she bent over to dust off her legs. “Just feeling a bit...” she started, looking at the ground, “...distracted.”

“If my mere presence is enough to make you perform so sloppily,” Hubert said, “perhaps you’re simply not very good.”

The training session had been fine until he showed up. Standing motionless in the shade of the arena’s outer pillars, arms folded and cape gathered around him, Hubert reminded her of a particularly lifelike gargoyle. Byleth should have anticipated he would drop in on a session, but...

Byleth closed her eyes. _ Dear Goddess, why did it have to be after the masquerade ball? _

A few days earlier, Byleth would not have even noticed his scrutiny. She would have been content to devote her attention entirely on her training. It was an opportunity to staunch the flow of her thoughts, to focus on the physicality of her own body—how the weight of her blade felt in her hands, the way her muscles sang as they stretched and burned.

Now, Hubert’s eyes were a physical weight on her back. When she lunged like that, did the muscles of her thighs look familiar? Had her costume done enough to hide her chest? When Byleth grunted with exertion as she blocked Edelgard’s axe, could Hubert hear a trace of her ecstatic cries? 

Heat flared in Byleth’s groin, and guilt in her mind. 

“And perhaps _ you _ shouldn’t criticise if you’re not even fighting,” Edelgard chided, one hand poised on her hip as she addressed her skulking retainer. “So no more comments—unless you care to join us, of course.”

Byleth snapped out of her racing thoughts with the abruptness of someone being dunked into an ice bath. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” she said, the flat affect of her voice completely disguising her inner scream. “I’m sure he has other things to do.”

Hubert tilted his head, as though what she said gave him pause, and then took a step away from the pillar. “My schedule is empty this morning, and I would very much enjoy seeing Lady Edelgard’s new tutor up close,” he said, the words practically oozing from his mouth. When his eyes met Byleth’s, he smirked. “Unless my dear wife has any objections?”

“Of course not,” Byleth replied, immediately searching for the most lethal training weapon on the rack.

Beauty was something Byleth only paid attention to as an asset. It was an effective manipulation tool. In this regard, she assessed everyone she met at a glance. Edelgard was beautiful, with sharp eyes and invitingly soft pink lips. Byleth herself was beautiful, her innocent eyes and the ample curves of her body drawing in lingering stares and foolish decisions. Hubert was not beautiful, and this had not changed simply because they’d had sex. 

But there was more there now, in a way she found hard to explain. As his thin lips curved, she knew what they felt like against her sex. Byleth watched the slender line of his neck as he unbuttoned his jacket, exposing his pale throat, and recalled how she’d wanted to sink her teeth into it on their wedding night. While he rolled the white sleeves of his shirt up past his elbows, saw the muscles work under his skin, her breath quickened as she remembered how it had felt to be held up while he fucked her.

His body held memories. In truth, it had started to hold memories even before the masquerade—every day, his body became less of an object to assess and more of...

Hubert’s arm brushed past her as he reached for the weapon rack. “Having trouble deciding?” he asked. His voice rumbled low in her ear, and Byleth felt the hair on her neck stand up. She moved to back away from the wall and only succeeded at bumping into him where he stood behind her. “Pick something that’ll hurt,” he murmured, taking a lance in his spindly hands and walking away. 

Byleth’s grip on her sword was so tight that her fingers ached.

Across the arena, Edelgard had taken Hubert’s old place while he stretched, and Byleth’s frown deepened. “Are you finished?” she asked.

“Oh, I’d rather watch you two for now,” Edelgard replied. She had that gleam in her eyes, that brightness on her face when something excited her down to her core. Byleth didn’t know if she would ever get used to the strange feeling that look instilled in her.

Hubert’s stance wasn’t bad. He was clearly used to how the lance felt, and likely had a good deal more experience training with one than Byleth. He cut a surprisingly rough-and-tumble figure like this, sleeves rolled up, weapon in hand, one eye peering intensely from the curtain of his inky-black hair. It was a far cry from the stiff, polished image he maintained every day—the untouchable dark mage, the terrible ghoul in Edelgard’s shadow.

But he didn’t get to be any of that right now. In the warm sunlight of the training arena, Hubert was just another man with almost no real melee combat experience who was about to get solidly trounced by a woman half his height.

“On your mark, my lady,” Hubert said over his shoulder, and Byleth nodded her assent.

Silence hung thick in the air for only a moment before Edelgard called, “Begin!” 

Hubert lunged for her right away, and Byleth was already stepping to the side. He wanted to surprise her, catch her off-guard, and for Hubert that meant being foolishly aggressive. But try as he might to avoid her these past couple of months, Byleth had never stopped learning about him. She punished his predictability with a hard smack of her wooden sword against his back. 

“Again,” she said.

He was smart enough not to try the same thing twice. They circled one another like cats, waiting for the other to get close enough to strike, their boots crunching dryly against the ground.

Byleth moved so quickly he barely had time to raise his lance to block her blow, but he did, the loud crack of wood on wood echoing around the arena. Hubert put his strength into his arms, shoving her backward, but she was ready for that, too. As Byleth stepped gracefully onto her back foot, Hubert ended up clumsily lurching forward. She pressed her training sword—gently—into his gut as he caught his breath.

“Again,” she repeated.

Her blood sang as it coursed through her veins. Every movement she made came more naturally than the ones before. Once he’d warmed up, Byleth could see he wasn’t even a bad fighter—she was simply better. He couldn’t touch her, but she could touch him all she wanted. Robbed of his magic and intimidation, left with only raw physical strength, he was finally, _ finally _ powerless before her.

With every false fatality, Byleth’s confidence surged. Her sword at his throat, making his throat bob. Forcing him to drop his lance. Making him kneel.

Killing him felt so _ right_. 

One day there would be no more need for pretense or wooden weapons. One day she would strike true, her goal in reach, and Hubert would become just another job, the space he’d carved inside her mind spilling out like blood from an artery.

“I yield,” Hubert ground through clenched teeth, as though the words themselves were causing him pain as they left his lips. Sprawled on the ground inelegantly, dirt staining his white shirt, bruises already forming on his arms, panting heavily with exertion...

_ ...when he dies, I can’t humiliate him like this anymore. _

It was an embarrassingly obvious conclusion, and something she’d logically understood for a long time. But in an instant, as Byleth looked down at the determination to make her pay written in Hubert’s eyes, all the joy of her victory disappeared. The thrill of how he would retaliate—of wondering what his next steps would be—would vanish on the day she completed her job.

Rhea would ask her to kill someone else, and they wouldn’t give her this much trouble, because no one had ever given her this much trouble until Hubert.

Byleth extended her hand. She meant to tell him it was a good match, that with practice he could be a terror with a lance, that he could join her sparring sessions with Edelgard when he pleased.

What she said was, “I want to keep fighting you.”

For just a fraction of a second, she saw Hubert’s eyes widen. A single unguarded look of surprise. And then the mask was back up, but it sat strangely on his face. As he gripped her hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet, there was something dangerously real in his expression.

“It would be my pleasure.”

*******

Hubert’s bruises were hidden beneath his dark jacket, but it didn’t stop Edelgard from smirking every time she saw him wince when he reached for his coffee pot. The rose garden was warming up in the mornings now, the springtime air more invigoratingly refreshing and less unpleasantly chilly. Ferdinand sat to Edelgard’s right, pouring her more tea and taking a scone off the platter for himself. 

It was a pleasant morning, as Ferdinand’s presence always had a way of livening up a room. Even an airy, empty chat over breakfast became an animated, impassioned discussion for the Prime Minister, which—Hubert was forced to admit—was one of his most charming qualities. For a time he was content to watch Edelgard and Ferdinand playfully bicker about if strawberry or apricot jam was the superior choice for scones. Edelgard’s bright laughter would grow scarce in the months to come. He wanted to hear it as much as he could now, memorizing the sound like a song.

But they had business to discuss, and eventually, it was Edelgard herself who broached the topic.

“So, I believe it’s well past time we heard about your visit to Faerghus,” she said, stirring sugar into her tea. “Though I assume, based on how long it’s taken us to have this conversation, things didn’t go as we hoped.”

Ferdinand sighed, one hand sinking into his orange mane to rub at his temple. “I... yes,” he admitted, and as devastating as it was for them all to hear, Hubert knew no one was taking it harder than Ferdinand. “King Dimitri is sympathetic. I truly believe he wants to help. But Faerghus has just had their worst winter in years—with a poor harvest and so many sick... he says he cannot spare any troops for your cause, even if he supports it.”

“Mm.” Edelgard’s spoon clinked against the sides of her cup as she stirred aimlessly, staring down into the swirling liquid. “I see.”

“Rhea has a much tighter hold over Faerghus than Adrestia. The Church always has,” Hubert said. “If his resources are spread so thinly, it is—unfortunately—a wise decision for him to continue bowing to her.”

To say Hubert did not care for King Dimitri was an understatement. Someone who spent as much time in the shadows as he did learned to recognize the darkness within others, and it bubbled beneath Dimitri’s surface like a wound festering under a bandage. He wasn’t stable, and Hubert didn’t trust him—especially not his overfamiliarity with Lady Edelgard—but he still understood the strategic importance of having Faerghus on their side.

With a few words, their coup had become infinitely bloodier, and it was the Empire’s people who would suffer the most. Edelgard’s light did not reach her eyes as she stared ahead, and Hubert wished more than anything that he could reach out and pull her back from where her thoughts threatened to drown her.

“Perhaps if you visited him yourself?” Ferdinand suggested, although it was foolish, but that had never stopped him from suggesting anything before. “He’s always been fond of you. If we were able to promise him some sort of protection from the Church, if they decided to retaliate—“

“We can’t,” Edelgard said, her voice hard. “We don’t have the manpower to protect Adrestia and Faerghus, especially if he doesn’t have many soldiers to contribute.” There was a moment of quiet as she drank her tea before adding, “And I can’t make the time to go to Faerghus myself. Not right now. There’s too much I need to do here.”

The trio sat silently for a time, alone in their thoughts—three separate plans unfolding in each of their heads, with one possible solution continuing to pop up like a weed. 

Hubert grimaced, but someone had to say it. “We should consider petitioning Duke Riegan and the Leicester Alliance for aid.”

Edelgard choked on a scone. “You want me to trust _ Claude _ with the fact that we’re planning a coup?!”

“No, no,” Ferdinand said, and Hubert could see the wheels turning in his head as he spoke, brows furrowing, “I may actually agree with Hubert. Thanks to Claude’s leadership, the Alliance is more united than it has been in years, and it is no secret that he has no love for the Crest system. It is not a bad idea.”

“Let’s not get carried away. It _ is _ a bad idea.” Hubert folded his arms. “But it’s one of the few options left open to us. Without more soldiers, we can’t hope to defend against the Church’s inevitable retaliation. Now that Dimitri has proven unable to help, our hope falls to convincing Claude to join our side.”

Edelgard cast glances between the pair of her advisors and found them both unwilling to budge. She rested her face on one hand. “I thought things would be better when you two stopped fighting, but I may have been a bit hasty.”

Ferdinand’s smile had returned, bright and beaming. “Not to worry, my lady. I shall start making preparations for a diplomatic visit to Deirdru right after breakfast.”

Hubert had to have at least _ some _ blackmail on Claude von Riegan he could use to help speed negotiations along. He’d have to look into that later. He needed more coffee first, though.

As Hubert reached for the coffee pot, Ferdinand reached for another scone. It was only a gentle brush across Hubert’s arm, but one of the bruises Byleth had punished him with blossomed with a fresh new pain. Hubert hissed softly through gritted teeth, but it was enough for Ferdinand to notice.

“Hubert, are you alright? I am so sorry—I did not think I bumped you so hard!”

“It’s nothing,” Hubert said, already dreading where this conversation was going. The slow grin spreading across Edelgard’s face was not inspiring confidence, either. “Just a bruise. I’m fine.”

“That is not fine! Who hurt you?” Ferdinand demanded, about to stand up out of his chair, as though he’d chase down the culprit himself. Although, it being Ferdinand, maybe he actually would.

Hubert exhaled loudly through his nose, waving one hand in a gesture for Ferdinand to stay seated. “I joined Lady Edelgard and—Byleth in their training session yesterday. We ended up sparring and she got quite a few hits in. There’s no need to alert the entire palace.”

Ferdinand’s frown only deepened. “You were sparring with your wife?”

One of Hubert’s brows raised. “That is what I said, yes.”

“Is that... does that not strike you as an unusual activity for a married couple?”

Edelgard hid her smile behind her teacup. “Hubert certainly seemed to be enjoying himself,” she said primly, and there was the strangest sensation in Hubert’s face—a sudden heat flaring up across his cheeks, almost like he was—

Hubert looked away from her, unable to bear it. Before he could speak, Ferdinand had chimed in. “Unconventional activities aside, it has been wonderful to see you in such high spirits lately, Hubert. And who am I to judge how you and your wife bond! I am simply glad to see my love advice was helpful!”

The expression Hubert made could have caused all the roses in the garden to wither—all except Ferdinand, of course. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“He has been in a good mood, hasn’t he?” Edelgard mused, leaning a little closer to Ferdinand as she examined Hubert. “That’s the first real scowl he’s given you all morning.” And then, as if hearing it for the first time, she gasped and laid her hands on the table. “Wait, Ferdinand, you gave Hubert _ love advice _?!”

“It was barely—“ Hubert started, completely bowled over by Ferdinand before he could blink.

“Of course!” Ferdinand said proudly, tossing his hair over one shoulder, legs crossed. “Though I may be unmarried, I am well versed in matters of the heart, you know. And he was quite insistent on needing my help.” Hubert closed his eyes.

Edelgard looked like she could have clapped with childlike glee. “Tell me everything!”

Was it too late to have Ferdinand assassinated? It would be a significant blow to the Empire, true, but anything would be preferable to him telling Edelgard about their conversation in the library. 

But Ferdinand only smiled and shook his head in the face of Edelgard’s plea. “I could never betray my best friend’s confidence. Not even for you, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard deflated, sulking a bit in her chair, and Hubert could only stare as Ferdinand gave him the most charming wink he’d ever seen.

The smile that curved the edges of Hubert’s mouth was sincere. “If only everyone could be so lucky to have a best friend like you, Ferdinand.”

*******

Byleth closed her eyes and breathed in. Fresh air filtered through towering trees, the sweet scent of the nearby wildflower fields carrying on the breeze. Somewhere above, birds called and sang to one another, heedless of her presence. Everything was alive, and she did not have to fix it. When was the last time she’d felt like this?

Flayn smiled at her in the courtyard. “What kind of birds are those, sister?”

“What are you thinking about?”

Edelgard paused in her tracks further ahead on the path. The wind played with thick strands of her hair like a mischievous child, and she tucked it behind her ears as she waited for Byleth to catch up.

“I was thinking about home,” she admitted. The pair continued walking side by side. Like Hubert’s horseback ride, this excursion had no point. Edelgard had wanted to go for a walk with her. Byleth didn’t know why she said yes.

Dirt rustled softly beneath their boots. “Do you miss it?” Edelgard asked.

“Yes,” Byleth said, because it was expected, and then thought about it. “I think so.” A strange anxiety welled up within her as she looked to Edelgard, attentively gauging her response. Would it make Edelgard sad, knowing Byleth missed Garreg Mach? Would she think Byleth strange for being uncertain?

But Edelgard just kept walking, and Byleth followed. “You miss your family,” she commented.

Their faces flickered into Byleth’s mind. Flayn, ever-smiling; Seteth, always protective; her mother. And—

And? There was no one else.

The thought vanished as soon as it appeared, swept away on the wind. Byleth pulled her coat closer around her arms as she nodded. “I do miss them.”

“It must be hard to be apart from your mother.”

“I wasn’t thinking about my mother.” The hardness in Byleth’s voice surprised her.

Edelgard looked at her out of the corner of her eye. They were approaching a hill, and it seemed she had every intention of continuing upward. Silence stretched for a time as they found their footing, hunching forward as they adjusted their pace. 

Byleth broke the quiet. “I was thinking about my sister. Flayn.” The dirt path was disappearing, grass and weeds and flowers reclaiming mankind’s footsteps.

“I wasn’t aware the Archbishop had other children,” Edelgard mused, breathing a bit harder as they kept climbing.

“She doesn’t. Flayn is Seteth’s daughter. So she’s not really my sister,” Byleth said, “but she... feels like it.”

How did she know what having a sister felt like?

Edelgard was speaking again. “That’s what matters,” she said, her voice oddly firm for a moment before softening once more between breaths. “I’m glad you have Flayn, then. Sibling bonds are...” 

She didn’t finish her sentence.

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Byleth said, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she understood—too late.

“They’re gone.”

“...I’m sorry.”

They finished the rest of the climb in silence, and when they reached the summit, both women were out of breath. Wiping the sweat from her brow on the back of her coat sleeve, Byleth looked around. They’d reached a clearing in the forest, a patch of grass that overlooked fields of flowers. The sun was hanging low in the sky, bathing them in a warm, pink glow.

Edelgard sat down in the grass. She looked so young for a moment, with her knees pulled up to her chest, gazing out at the scenery. Pulling her eyes away, Byleth sat beside her. 

“Byleth,” Edelgard said at last. “Forgive the strange question, but I wondered... what is your mother like?”

It took Byleth off-guard, not because it was a particularly strange question, but because she’d never been asked it. Everyone knew what the Archbishop was like. Lady Rhea was kind and stern, patient and just. Forgiving and firm in equal measure. She was what everyone should strive to be. 

And yet, none of it felt right to say. For every memory of Rhea’s smile, there were five more of her cold disappointment. Byleth’s mouth opened and closed as she considered her words. She could feel Rhea’s gaze on her, evaluating her response, just as clearly as if she was on the hill too. What could she say? What was allowed?

Edelgard’s gloved hand gripped hers. “It’s okay,” she said, “we don’t have to talk about that.”

Why had Byleth been shaking?

Edelgard’s hands were warm, even through her gloves. They were so small and delicate, shockingly fragile for someone so wicked.

Was Edelgard wicked?

Byleth lifted her eyes away from the hands holding her own. With a start, she realized that no matter how hard she looked, she could no longer see Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg. The person smiling at her, encouraging and soft, framed by the setting sun, was someone else entirely—

Just... Edelgard.

As her breath caught in her chest, Byleth wondered when everyone around her had changed.

Or if _ they _ had changed at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thank you for being patient waiting for this next chapter—I had a kitty medical emergency, but she’s fine now. I’ll be trying to return to my schedule of updating every other week.
> 
> Next chapter is one I’ve been excited about writing since I finished my outline, so please look forward to it >:3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [They Aren't Spies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164396) by [BiggHoggDogg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiggHoggDogg/pseuds/BiggHoggDogg)


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